


you strike me as vaguely stupid

by Snowsheba



Series: there's dipifica over the horizon [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, feel the heteronormativity, good god why has it come to this, shakes vindicative fist at Alex Hirsch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowsheba/pseuds/Snowsheba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshots for Dipcifica/Dippica/Dipifica week, because I am weak and I need my fix, darn it.</p><p><strong>2015</strong><br/>1: Presents<br/>2: Caroling<br/>3: Bodyguard (from an RP generator)<br/>4. "I don't know how to tell you this, but Mabel knitted us matching Christmas sweaters."<br/>5. Weirdmaggedon<br/>6. Failing at making a gingerbread house<br/>7. First Christmas morning as a family</p><p><strong>2016</strong><br/>1. Alternate universe (florist and tattooist)<br/>2. Temptation<br/>3. I missed you<br/>4. Late nights<br/>5. Monster hunt<br/>6. Prom<br/>7. Post-series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. all that doesn’t glitter

**Author's Note:**

> The only reason I am writing this is because I am kind of a sucker for Dipper/Pacifica, and the challenge came up on tumblr and I just could not resist.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacifica can probably get Dipper anything he might want. Problem is, she has absolutely no idea what he wants, and he’s not exactly forthcoming with details. Her parents aren’t exactly enthused with her choice of company, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 challenge: Presents! 
> 
> They're like college students in this one.

“You really don’t need to get me anything, Paz,” Dipper said, the hand around her shoulders picking idly at a strand of her hair.

“You say that, but I just _know_ you’ll get me something amazing and I’ll feel like crap,” Pacifica retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. She might be sitting in his lap, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. “Mabel did the same thing last year and I am not falling for it again.”

Dipper laughed and briefly tightened his grip on her. She felt a smile tug at her lips, only just managing to suppress it as she continued glaring at him.

“I forgot about that. What happened to that sweater, anyway?”

Pacifica’s cheeks reddened against her will. There was absolutely no way she would admit that she wore it as a nightshirt. “Quit changing the subject.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he said, ducking his head to hide a grin.

“You are insufferable.” But she pressed a light kiss to his cheek anyway, feeling stubble as she did. He smelled like the outdoors and warmth all at once as his hand rose to cup the back of her neck, but she turned her face away before he could return the favor. “No. Not until you give me an inkling of what you want.”

“I’m pretty sure I want this,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of her head, breath ghosting across the small hairs by her ear, and Pacifica sternly told herself not to get distracted.

“Dipper.”

“Pacifica.”

“Dipper, answer the question.”

His lips brushed the skin just behind her ear and her breath hitched. “I already did.” Another kiss, just as brief. “And it wasn’t a question.”

“This is impossible,” Pacifica grumped, uncrossing her arms so she can slap her hands over her eyes. Dipper paid no heed, nosing the side of her head, as she complained, “I don’t know what to get you for the holidays, Dipper. Will you _please_ give me a hint.”

He hummed, tugging her more closely against him, and she was suddenly very grateful that the Mystery Shack was empty and no one was around to see them cuddle on the ratty old armchair in front of the TV. Mabel would never let her live this down.

“It’s not even December, Paz,” Dipper said, finally drawing his head and mouth and distractions away, and she peeked through her fingers to see him watching her, brown eyes thoughtful. “Why are you stressing about this now?”

“This wouldn’t be stressful if you weren’t so opaque,” she replied with a mock-scowl, neatly circumventing the question.

“Where’s the fun if I tell you straight out?”

She let her hands fall into her lap and stared at him, eyes hard. He just chuckled at her, and she couldn’t maintain the steely look for more than a few seconds before she sighed and tucked herself more firmly against him. “Fine,” she grumbled, “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dipper said cheerfully like a complete jerk, and she opened her mouth to accuse him as such but was rudely interrupted when he swooped down and kissed her instead. She resisted for maybe half a heartbeat before his teeth scraped her lower lip, and then she gave in, resigning herself to a long few weeks of investigation and interrogation.

* * *

The honest truth was that Pacifica knew she worried about holiday gifts a little early. It was a habit she picked up when she was little, back when her parents were training her to be the perfect heir to their terrible secret – the right gift could mean a plethora of open doors, and the wrong one meant passive-aggressive letters and sniping conversations at dinner parties. Getting that right gift meant at least three weeks of research and carefully-worded questions, and Pacifica was nothing short of a master of that at this point in her life.

Except the Pines twins hadn’t grown up in the same socialite world she had, and she had found very quickly that questioning anyone as she usually would a distant family member – roundabout, for one, the motive and intent clear but the wording fairly vague – usually ended in spectacular failure. Wendy had laughed outright before suggesting some kind of weapon (but not an ax), and the twins’ great-uncle Stan merely shrugged at her. Even Mabel had been clueless, as she admitted that even she wasn’t sure what to get her brother beyond the usual ugly sweater, and of course Dipper was as cagey as ever, no matter how much she grumbled at him.

Three months until the gift exchange – three months of wandering around stores and avoiding chimes and spending time with the Pines and ignoring her parents – and she was still stuck. It would have been frustrating, if there wasn’t an undercurrent of fear flowing through her thoughts.

* * *

Dipper dragged her with him when he needed to buy presents for his family, and Pacifica was fine until they get to a store with a bell and she froze, momentarily at least. Dipper’s hand squeezed her own soon after, and then he pressed close with his lips against her temple and soft murmurs in her ear, and then she could breathe and move again – and she whispered, feeling nauseous and weak and wobbly all at once, “Sorry.”

“For what?” Dipper said softly, ignoring how she was clenching his hand so tightly she was probably going to break his fingers, and Pacifica breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth and didn’t answer. He didn’t ask again, his silence somehow understanding instead of suffocating, and she focused on anything but ringing bells as he tugged her deeper into the store.

They eventually decided on some bright and neon earrings shaped like a grappling hook for Mabel, a lucky find in a thrift store, and agreed that the best thing for Stan was just cash, so they bought a set of Monopoly with the plan of taking all the paper money inside. For Soos Dipper just got a new power drill, and Pacifica briefly toyed with the idea of getting her parents a cake that read “I hate you” in all caps in green frosting, but Dipper, in a surprising bit of diplomacy, talked her down.

“Mostly I think you’ll regret it later,” he said, tempering her incredulous look with an apologetic smile. “I mean, I’d do it, but they’re not my parents.”

“Send it for me,” Pacifica countered.

“I’d rather not get assassinated.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, but a small part of her didn’t have to wonder.

* * *

In the end Pacifica still didn’t have any idea of what to get him. He hadn’t shown any latent interest in anything in particular, and while she was well-aware of his fascination in everything paranormal, that wasn’t something that she could just giftwrap and hand over to him. He was the adventurer, sometimes with she and Mabel as tagalongs; she doubted she could venture out to find him something by herself, at least not without running into something unpleasant. She didn’t have a journal listing every supernatural creature’s weakness.

Her breath clouded the air as they finally walked out of the store, and she was glad for her coat as they ambled their way past festive decorations and cheerful chattering of the townsfolk. Dipper was quiet as they went along, and after a moment Pacifica began to hum, remembering a tune from a long time ago. It was nothing difficult, but it slipped through her vocal cords with a soft thrum – and it fit, somehow.

“A lullaby,” Dipper said after a moment.

“Is it?”

“Yeah.” He hooked an arm around her shoulder. It had taken her a long time to adjust to being touched like this, casual and intimate, how natural it was for both Mabel and Dipper, but now she leaned into it, could only laugh at how much she liked it. “Where did you hear it?”

“I don’t know. Not my parents.”

He scoffed. “Of course not.”

She made a small sound of agreement. “Is that where you heard it?”

He nodded. She felt a flare of jealousy – but then Dipper started to hum it, his voice deeper than hers, and she smiled when she joined in as they left the town proper and walked through the woods, silent save for their footsteps and their intertwined voices.

“Stay?” he asked her when they reached the Mystery Shack, reaching out to loop his fingers around her wrist as she stopped at the door.

She wanted to, but his eyes searched hers and she saw the flash of disappointment; she gave him an apologetic smile and said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he answered, reaching up to cradle her face, and the kiss is short and gentle and then his fingers trail through hers as she walks down the stairs, tugging her scarf tightly around her and trying very hard to keep her breathing steady.

* * *

Two weeks spiraled down into one. Pacifica almost felt like crying but that would not help her in any way – and so she continued to meet up with the twins and think about her options and ignore the way her parents began to hint that she needed to stop leaving the manor all the time.

The day dwindled down and snow fell soft and heavy a few days before she absolutely had to have her presents ready, when he inevitably asked her to stay and she inevitably said no; and then she went home. Her father was waiting for her, and Pacifica remained silent as he asked question after question about her whereabouts, whether she was prepared for the holiday party they were throwing in a two days, whether she knew what to get her mother. He gave up after ringing that damned bell a few times and failing to elicit a response; and then –

“You’re grounded,” her father said, and Pacifica looked up, eyes wide. He smiled upon seeing her response and her blood boiled. “No more outings until after the party.”

“I haven’t bought everyone gifts yet,” Pacifica said, which was true, if she included Dipper.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” her father said, his voice sharp and cutting. _Cruel_. She tried to keep her eyes from stinging and failed. “Go to your room.”

He didn’t need ring the bell; Pacifica merely shot to her feet and stomped off, and once she got to her room she slammed the door hard enough that the frame rattled. Then she threw herself on her bed, screamed into her pillow, and grabbed her phone from her pocket and texted Mabel and Dipper.

* * *

“We’re breaking you out,” Mabel said without preamble, sounding so solemn it was a bit concerning.

Pacifica looked to her window and then rolled onto her back, staring at the ornate ceiling people long ago had died to carve. Her phone rested loosely in her hand, near her ear. “That’s not going to be easy. My room’s on the fourth floor.”

“Pshh, just the _fourth_? You hear that, Dipper?” There was a noise that sounded vaguely like assent, and Pacifica’s heart leapt. “Tonight. Midnight. Leave a note telling your parents you’re safe, and pack enough clothes for a weeklong sleepover.”

“You’re serious,” Pacifica said, now a bit incredulous but also not the least bit surprised.

“As the grave,” Dipper’s voice answered, and Pacifica couldn’t help that the laugh that came out of her throat sounded a bit hysterical. Mabel’s giggles followed and Dipper cracked soon after, chuckling as he said, “Seriously, Paz, you act like we haven’t done this before.”

“Have you?”

“Not in Gravity Falls,” Mabel chirped, and then there was a slapping sound – a high-five, no doubt. “Stay safe, okay? Remember the nail polish!” There was a brief, rapid-fire discussion Pacifica couldn’t pick up, and then Mabel announced, “I’m passing the phone to Dipdop now! Don’t waste all of my battery.”

“Mabel,” Dipper said reproachfully, and Pacifica could just hear the giggle as footsteps echoed in her ear. A few moments passed; then he whispered, “Everything all right?”

“I’m fi – ”

A bell rang outside her door. She stopped abruptly, feeling the frost slink through her blood and shudder down her back – and then her father was stepping away without entering, without taking her phone, and she gasped on a breath.

“Pacifica?” Dipper asked, sounding thoroughly alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she answered, voice cracking. Her honesty tastes bitter, and Dipper’s anger is palpable.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head at the ceiling, remembering a moment later that he couldn’t possibly see. “No,” she said, _please don’t leave me alone_ , “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” she said miserably, and immediately hated herself when her eyes stung.

“Paz – ”

“Please get me out of here,” she whispered, feeling very, very young.

There was momentary silence, a brief pattering of footsteps, murmurs and soft words. Then Dipper said, “We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Mabel chiming affirmative behind him, and Pacifica shut her eyes tight.

* * *

As it turned out, Mabel owned a grappling hook gun, which was how Pacifica escaped her room. It involved watching the small suitcase go down first quite speedily before holding her breath, a small loop of her bedsheet in hand, and sliding down herself. She only just managed not to scream, and she made the landing with a neat jump – and was immediately crushed into Mabel’s sweater, arms wrapped tight around her.

“Let’s get it going!” Mabel said into her hair, and Pacifica disguised a sob as a laugh as she was manhandled into the Mystery Shack’s golf cart. It was a wonder how Dipper managed to drive the thing through the hills covered in snow and ice, and Mabel’s rapid explanation of “gnomes” didn’t explain anything, but Pacifica clung to her anyway, snow biting her uncovered face, and let her tears freeze on her cheeks.

_Freedom_. The word was poison on her tongue, but was as sweet as it was dangerous.

Stan didn’t so much as blink an eye when the twins dragged her inside, instead flapping a hand and muttering something about the air mattress he’d found in the closet. Mabel and Dipper went over to give him a hug before doubling back, looping arms through hers and ushering her upstairs. She was about to point out that they had left her suitcase behind when Mabel sat her down on a bed – Dipper’s, Pacifica noted – and yelled, “Hot chocolate time!”

“Please don’t put in a lot of edible glitter,” Dipper shouted at her retreating back, and sighed at Mabel’s responding _no promises!_ Seconds passed, and he didn’t try to make her look at him as he took the spot beside her, close but not too close.

Silence. Pacifica flexed and relaxed her fingers, trying to get the blood flowing.

“Okay?” he asked at last into the quiet, and his voice was laced with concern and anger and softness.

“Better,” she answered, smiling at the floor, and his hands were warm when they covered hers.

* * *

Pacifica was lying on her air mattress in the Mystery Shack’s back room, trying not to jump at every creak, every untold sound, when the light in the kitchen turned on. She knew it was Dipper before he sat down, floating her upwards, and she rolled over and curled into him without a word. His fingers combed through her hair quietly.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. She hadn’t meant to wake him up, when she’d gone to the kitchen for a glass of water; she just couldn’t sleep, and she felt just a bit unwelcome. This domain wasn’t hers, would never be hers; but then, neither Dipper nor Mabel seemed to care.

“Don’t be,” he answered. She felt him hesitate, the slight twitch in the hand on her head; then he asked, “Do you want to… sleep with me and Mabel? In the attic?”

In the end they somehow managed to get the air mattress up the stairs and in-between the twins’ beds, and Mabel was already up and armed with a flashlight and scrapbooks from summers ago. “So you’ll know why we call ourselves the Mystery Twins!” Mabel said with a grin, and Dipper groaned good-naturedly and Pacifica looked between them, confused.

She didn’t remember when she fell asleep, flipping through pages and pages of supernatural captured on film, but when she woke up on the air mattress, Dipper’s arms were around her waist, breath dusting across the fine hairs on the back of her neck, and Mabel was lying in front of her, dead to the world, as the dawning sun streamed quietly through the window. Downstairs, footsteps echoed and clanging of pots rang out, and she swallowed hard and tried not to think about what might be happening at home.

It was not to be. Her phone rang, loud and jarring, just a few minutes later ( _7:30 sharp_ , she knew before looking), and the twins stirred as she reached up, scrabbled around, and picked up. She hesitated for just a moment when she saw the caller ID, but it was either let it ring and wake everyone up or answer.

“Pacifica Northwest,” her mother thundered when she did, loud enough that she had to hold the phone away from her ear, “You get back to the Manor right this instant. The party is _tonight_.”

She kept her voice down as she said, “Mother, I – ”

“You are in a _world_ of trouble, young lady. Have you even tried on your dress?!”

“Please, mother – ”

“And I suppose you haven’t even perused the guest list, have you? We have three separate dukes, girl; do you have any inkling of where they are from and who they are?”

“I – ”

“We know you’ve been going through a rebellious patch right now, but don’t you think you’ve done enough to our reputation? I expect you here in less than an hour – ”

Dipper’s hand reached over and plucked her phone from her hand, and any motions Pacifica made to frantically retrieve it end in failure as Mabel pushed it to her own ear.

“Whoops! You seemed to have reached the Pacifica’s-not-here line! Looks like you’ll have to try again when you’re not such a butt.” Outraged exclamations, but Mabel, her voice poisonous despite the smile on her face, merely said, “Have a nice day!”

Mabel then proceeded to hang up. Then she turned the phone off, tossed it onto her bed, and then Pacifica moaned, “Oh my god,” burying her head in her hands. Dipper tangled one leg between hers and tightened his grip around her, sensing – correctly – that she was going to get up and try to get the device. Pacifica gave up soon after; she knew when she was defeated. “My parents are going to _kill me_.”

“But you can spend the holidays with us!” Mabel said, grinning widely. Dipper was intensely quiet behind her, but his chin rested on her shoulder, solid and heavy. “C’mon, admit that’s more fun than an old, stuffy party.”

A defensive remark leapt to her throat but Pacifica forced it back down, because she was warm under these covers with her boyfriend spooning her and her best friend bouncing with excitement. Maybe she wasn’t happy, but she was content and she felt like she didn’t need to watch her back; she hadn’t felt that way for such a long time.

She heard bells, and she swallowed. “It sounds like a lot of fun,” she said, and Mabel let out a tiny screech and tackled her, and consequently Dipper, in what would have been a fierce hug were it not for the comforter separating them.

* * *

“Happy – ”

“Nope,” Pacifica said, steadfastly keeping herself turned away. “I’m not accepting it. Whatever it is.”

“Seriously, Paz?” She nodded. Dipper let out a dramatic sigh. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s a matter of Northwest pride, Dipper.”

“Do you really want that legacy?”

“No, but what choice do I have?” She didn’t acknowledge the hand settling on one hip, the thumb stroking the bone. “Without my parents, I’m nothing. I’m _less_ than nothing. The fact that I’m here and not there is – ”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, because even she didn’t know what this act of defiance would mean for her, what it would mean if she didn’t show up at this party with three dukes she had never heard of. She had never dreaded going home more in her entire life, and there had been plenty of times before this where she would have liked to never go home.

“I don’t know,” she said after the beat of silence.

“You accepted Mabel’s gift.”

“That’s because – ” She stopped. She wasn’t going to trap herself in one of his circular arguments, and she sighed, “I just. I can’t take something when I don’t have anything to give. I had something to give Mabel.”

“And she loves it,” as if the music blasting on the radio right now was not an indication, “But I promise you’ll like mine.”

“I know I will,” Pacifica said, because _I adore everything about you. I like how you wrinkle your shirt between your fingers when you’re nervous, the way a smile creeps onto your face, how you can laugh at the absurd but still take it in stride._ She blinked. “That’s why I feel extra awful.”

His fingers rose to her jaw, gingerly, stroking down the bone so intimately Pacifica held completely still – and then she felt something cool glide onto her skin, something smooth, a weight settling at her chest as he fastened a chain around her neck. She looked down; it was a key.

“So you can come anytime,” he said, hands slipping away, and her chest constricted and she couldn’t breathe. He’d given her a key to the Mystery Shack.

Her, the girl he once hated, had sworn he could never trust, had told to her face that she was the worst – and this was where they were now, in a warmly-lit living room with Mabel singing in the background and Stan grudgingly joining his old, harsh voice with hers, one of Dipper’s hands on her side and the other reaching out to take her hand, his chest coming and pressing against her back and it hit her like a sledgehammer.

“Stay?” he asked, resting his chin on her shoulder, and she was grateful for the thin strand of hair that shielded her eyes from view.

She closed her eyes and breathed out. She felt lighter; like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. And perhaps one had, in a way, as she thought of her parents and heard not a bell but Mabel’s nasally laugh and Dipper’s kitten sneeze.

“Yes,” she said.

“So we’re even,” Dipper said. Pacifica tilted her head in an unasked question, and he laughed in her ear and said, “Consider that your present to me.”

_I love you_.

“Sap,” she said instead, smiling, and then she shrieked when Dipper tickled the inside of her wrist and jumped after him when he leapt away, snorting on laughter.


	2. not friends, but

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacifica doesn’t go caroling because she finds it tiresome and pointless. Dipper doesn’t go caroling because Christmas is not his holiday. That doesn’t mean Pacifica can avoid her familial duty, and that doesn’t mean Dipper hates it - not exactly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw on Tumblr that it’s kind of cool to have Pines that don’t celebrate Christmas, maybe because they’re Jewish or some other reason? I’m not religious myself, so I never saw the point of caroling. Ergo: this thing!
> 
> Again, the kids are probably college age at this point. Also feel free to smite me if I mess anything up religious-wise.

Fun fact of the day: apparently, no one in Gravity Falls had any idea Dipper’s entire family wasn’t Christian. And that they didn’t celebrate Christmas. And that they also, by extension, didn’t go caroling. Or otherwise carry sleigh bells around. Or leave perfectly good cookies for a fat man dressed in red and white to take, for that matter.

Thus why he grunted assent when Grunkle Stan asked if he was going to scare them off and stepped outside in nothing but his pajamas, a thick quilt, and a neon-green knitted hat hastily pulled over his ears. The carolers watched him without stopping their singing – caroling – even when he stared at them flatly, his mouth a thin line and his eyes narrowed.

As soon as they finished their song, he said, “Look, it’s freezing, you don’t like us, we don’t like you, and we don’t have any freebies to give to you.” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “I like to think you are all reasonable people, so please go somewhere else.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” someone chirped.

“Exactly,” Dipper replied. He surveyed the crowd; none of them gave any indication that they were leaving. “It’s the twenty-fourth of December, which means nothing to non-Christians, and we would like to spend this evening in relative peace without some people who can’t even sing on key yammering at the door.” He squared his shoulders, which was unnoticeable through his quilt. “Go away.”

Instead they started singing again, and he sighed irritably and considered throwing food at them just to satisfy them into departing. That’s what carolers did, right? Sang at people and got invited inside eggnog and whatnot? “All they need is some of Mabel’s glitter-encrusted cookies,” he muttered, before he turned around, opened the door a crack, and called, “Grunkle Stan, preliminary measures didn’t work.”

“Grab the flamethrower, kid,” his Grunkle called back, loud enough that the carolers could hear, and just like that, most of them shut up mid-song and began to scrabble away. Dipper waited until most of them had hightailed it, and when only one was left, hesitating, he decided he was done and began to step inside.

“Um,” the last caroler said, and he could recognize that voice anywhere. “Do you m-mind if I... come inside?”

He turned back around. She looked cold, and she had her caroling book tucked under one arm with her hands deep in her pockets – and though they were not friends (and they _weren’t_ , even if they had each other’s phone numbers on speed-dial, even if they texted each other during the day, even if they said hello to each other in the street), it would be a huge jerk move if he turned her away.

“Why should I let you in, Pacifica?” he asked wryly as he moved aside. She rolled her eyes with a smile as she brushed past him, and when he closed the door behind him, he could see her visibly shivering in her thin wool coat and hat and gloves. “Wow, you did not dress for the weather.”

“B-blame my parents,” Pacifica answered, taking off her gloves and rubbing her hands together. “We have to keep up appearances and all that. This is the latest fashion.” Her laugh was a bit shaky, though whether it was from her chattering teeth or something else Dipper couldn’t quite tell. “Well, I mean, _I_ have to keep up appearances. Since there’s no stupid party this year and my parents can’t be bothered to go outside.”

He nodded like he understood, and then he said, “Take off your boots and that jacket. I doubt they’re doing you any favors,” and as soon as she had done both, he wriggled out of his quilt and wrapped it around her instead, taking her coat and hanging it on a stray nail in the gift shop. It was soaking wet with melted snow. “I take it you weren’t enjoying yourself.”

Were her cheeks that flushed before? _Must be from the cold_ , he thought. ( _Liar, liar, pants on fire_.)

“I hate caroling,” Pacifica confirmed presently, following Dipper out of the shop and into their living room, where he gestured to the armchair. She sat down without complaint and curled up into a ball, sweeping the quilt so it covered her toes. “Christmas used to be a lot more fun when I was younger and my parents actually cared.”

“I also hate caroling,” Dipper said frankly, sitting down on the floor, near her legs. Her socks are pathetically thin. How long had she lived here, and how had she still not figured out what you wear when it was snowing outside? “They sing songs about things I don’t care about, expect you to give them stuff in return, and basically keep me from sleeping.”

“Do you not celebrate Christmas?”

“Do you see a tree?” Dipper countered, and she tilted her head in his direction. _Touché_. “Mabel likes the family aspect of it, and we do give each other gifts, but beyond that it’s just something other people do.”

“Must be nice,” Pacifica whispered, so quietly he almost missed it.

“We usually get Chinese food, actually,” Dipper said with a shrug. “If you call that nice. We’re on a first-name basis with the owner of one restaurant back home.”

He could just barely see her smile.

(Okay, maybe he’d gone to a few more Northwest parties and maybe he’d danced with her a few times. Maybe he’d called her in the middle of the night a few times when he’d gotten a nightmare, and maybe they stayed up to talk to each other until one of them fell asleep. Maybe they’d gone shopping together once, bickering over everything from the absurd price of shoes to the ice cream flavor he treated her to.

Maybe he liked her sense of humor and her voice and the way she brushed her hair but it didn’t matter, all right? Because they _weren’t_ friends.)

Grunkle Stan proceeded to walk by in nothing but his bathrobe, nodding to return Dipper’s wave. Then he stepped back and looked inside the living room, steaming coffee cup in hand, and asked, “That the Northwest girl?”

“Yep,” Dipper said, ignoring how Pacifica tried to bury herself in the quilt and disappear.

His Grunkle stared at him for a moment longer. Dipper, in response, gestured to Pacifica’s thin socks and mouthed _look at this_. Understanding dawned in his eyes a moment later, and he said gruffly, “Fine, but she doesn’t stay the night.”

“We’ll have to see about that, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper said, observing that the snowfall, while gentle, is thick and cold and heavy. “Even you couldn’t send someone out in this weather without proper snow boots.”

“Try me,” his Grunkle said with an eerie grin, and it was only because Dipper had lived with him for so many summers that he knew the man was kidding. Pacifica, meanwhile, gazed at Dipper with wide, frightened eyes. “Don’t do anything I would do. Where’s Mabel?”

“At Grenda’s,” Dipper said. “Candy came to drag her to their Christmas party when Mabel let it slip that she was just going to stay home and bother her annoying brother.”

“Hnf. Well, you’re in charge of getting her home, then.” Dipper snapped his mouth shut when his Grunkle added, “I’ll make you clean the entire store again if you don’t.” Taking his nephew’s silence as an affirmative, Stan moved off, sipping at his coffee and humming a song that Mabel could probably name.

He flopped onto his back, fingers digging into the carpet, and stared morosely at the ceiling. So much for staying inside where it was warm, he mourned, and he pushed himself to his feet a moment later. The hat was still perched on his head, so that meant gloves, down jacket, maybe snowpants? Boots, definitely, plus something extra for Pacifica.

“I can go by myself,” Pacifica said. She was barely visible beneath the quilt, save for her face and part of her right hand.

“Don’t be dumb,” Dipper answered, and Pacifica huffed at him but didn’t protest. He stood in silence for a while, contemplating the weather he could see from the window, and then said, “Come with me. Maybe some of Mabel’s stuff will fit you.”

He expected her to protest, but instead she merely slipped her legs from inside the ball of quilt and stood, blanket falling loosely around her shoulders before she tugged it more securely around her. “It’s a cape,” she deadpanned when Dipper stared, and when he let out a startled laugh she grinned.

(Maybe he’d gone to one of the Manor parties, maybe he’d gone onto the balcony when he couldn’t find her, maybe he’d found her crying. Maybe he had remembered a time when he was twelve and she’d been sitting with a flashlight, paintings blinking in and out of sight. Maybe this time he had reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, and maybe they had sat there for almost ten minutes as she collected herself and he learned, finally, why she was the way she was.

Maybe her parents had found them that way. Maybe he had been kicked out and hadn’t been back since.

Maybe he hated them – for her.)

His feet were silent on the wooden floor, having long since recognized which part of the boards creaked and which didn’t; not that it mattered, as Pacifica walked noisily along beside him, and he opened the door to the attic and led her inside. Per usual, Mabel’s half was pink and purple and glittery, while his side was covered in paper, tacked all over his wall and ceiling. He went into the closet without any qualms about Mabel’s underwear sticking out a drawer - but when he turned around with his twin’s old coat, he found Pacifica looking at his notes.

“Try this,” he said, holding out the purple monstrosity, but Pacifica didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead she gently set her caroling book on his bed before getting onto it herself, and then she reached out and carefully removed a paper from his wall.

He realized a moment too late what it was: a picture of her, a sudden burst of color in the brown and black and white of his wall, lavender and blue and soft yellow sun. He forgot when he had taken it, forgot when he had tacked it up, forgot why he had put it up in the first place.

(They weren’t friends.

They _weren’t_.)

“This is a good picture of me,” she said, turning it over in her hands. She knew he dated everything he made; sure enough, Dipper saw that it was taken in the summer. “I didn’t even realize you had a camera on you.”

“I didn’t,” Dipper answered, mouth dry. He’d used his phone, and he draped the purple jacket on the foot of his bed before he sat down beside the caroling book. She picked it up a moment later and planted herself and her quilt beside him.

“Can I have it?”

 _No_ , he screamed, _it’s mine_. “If you want.”

“I do.”

(Maybe he’d hugged her once. Maybe he told her about Bill Cipher and his own stupid, stupid mistakes. Maybe she knew more about him than anyone else, except Mabel. Maybe he knew that she was deathly afraid of bells, and maybe he knew why.)

She tried on the coat, and it was a tight fit, but it would work. The boots were a lost cause from the start, and so they tromped back downstairs and Dipper called a farewell to Grunkle Stan before they went out the door. Stan’s old car had winter tires, and Pacifica was quiet as he started it up and waited for it to warm up.

He had just shifted into drive when Pacifica’s hand found his, cold and smooth, and he glanced over at her to find her blushing.

(Maybe he’d kissed her. Once. It was an accident. He tripped into her.

Then again, that wire had been suspiciously placed.)

“Hey,” she said when he didn’t pull away, as the car made its way through the snowy forest path.

“Yeah?”

“Will you come caroling with me? Right now?” She cleared her throat, and said almost inaudibly, “So I don’t have to be alone?”

(They weren’t friends. They definitely weren’t, not if they argued and bickered and screamed at each other almost every time they met. Maybe they didn’t do that today, but they would later, inevitably. They _weren’t_ friends.

But they were something.)

“Sure,” Dipper said, smiling slightly, and she hummed a tune he didn’t know as she squeezed his hand with hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to look up how caroling worked. We don’t have these kinds of people where I live.


	3. safety in numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacifica gets a new bodyguard. Dipper gets a new charge. They really do not get along.
> 
> Until they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt from the generator was “Pacifica is Dipper’s hired bodyguard.” While this would be an awesome gender role reversal, it fits so well the other way – so I switched it around.

“ _This_ ,” she said, looking the man up and down, “is the new bodyguard?”

“Indeed, ma’am,” her butler said with absolutely no trace of emotion. She raised an eyebrow when he added, “He is quite capable, should you like to look at his resumé.”

She made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. Her newly-hired bodyguard fixed her with a patient look before he was distracted by the woman at his side, a younger girl with long hair and bright eyes who greatly resembled him.

“Why does Father do this?” she muttered, quietly enough that only the butler could hear.

“He was thinking of your safety, ma’am,” the butler answered primly.

 _Right_ , Pacifica thought, scathingly bitter. _Of course he was. Protecting his investment from being killed, when his investment is perfectly capable of defending herself._ “Show him around the manor,” Pacifica ordered. “I’ll deal with him later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pivoted on her heel and walked off as the butler approached the other man, the gears in her mind already clicking into place. With any luck, she’d get rid of this one, too, and maybe her father would finally get it into his head that didn’t need (or want!) a watchdog, and maybe he would finally realize that he couldn’t control her if he tried.

(And while she was still dreaming, maybe her parents would finally get over themselves and treat her like a daughter instead of something to be put on a pedestal.)

When she glanced back, the bodyguard was watching her intently - and some part of her hated him immediately.

* * *

Her bodyguard was waiting outside her door the next morning, and unlike all twelve others who had stood straight and unmoving, this one was leaning against the wall and reading from an old, battered, yellow-paged book. He snapped it shut the moment she slipped out, however, and his footsteps were dead silent as he followed her down the hall and to the kitchen.

He was much skinnier and ganglier than the other bodyguards. If nothing else, he looked like he hadn’t quite grown into his skin, which was strange, and she doubted he could protect her from a rabid bat, even if he walked like a cat with tape on its paws.

The book was opened against the moment she sat down at the table alone, her breakfast stacked neatly on her plate, and he stood behind her shoulder without a word. She too ate in stony silence, resisting the urge to look back and see what he was reading; come to think of it, she didn’t even know his name.

She was about to open her mouth to ask when he said, “Dipper Pines. If that’s what you were going to ask.” When she didn’t say anything else, he let out a light laugh and said, “Yeah, that usually gets people.”

“I’m sorry?” she managed.

“You should be. I’ve heard you’re quite good at driving away your bodyguards. I can assure you, you’ll have a harder time with me.” When she turned her head to stare at him, he gave her a smile that was more teeth than mirth. “Pacifica Northwest, Gravity Falls’ resident darling. I look forward to getting to know you.”

He had an advantage because he knew her. Worse, he _knew_ he had an advantage, and he was milking it for all it was worth, and she scowled at him. “That’s all well and good, but don’t you think you should be spending more time watching and less time reading?”

“Don’t worry, miss Northwest. Anything gets in, I’ll know.” He tapped the spine of his book. “Wards tend to do that, you know.”

 _He’s crazy_ , Pacifica thought, staring long and hard at him. _Wards? Does he mean magic? He_ has _to be crazy_. But his smile remained on his lips, and suddenly, she had to wonder.

* * *

“That book,” she asked. “What is it?”

Two weeks had passed without incident – two weeks where Dipper had snarked at her, two weeks where she had snapped back at him, two weeks where she had tried to look up his background and had come up with nothing but a triangle with one eye. He was irritating and annoying and cocky, and she was fairly certain she hated him, and he matched her stride exactly as they wandered through the mall.

Presently he didn’t answer her question, instead closing the book and handing it to her. There were no words on the spine, and on the front was a six-fingered hand, golden in color and engraved with the number two. “One of my great-uncle’s journals,” he said as way of explanation, and Pacifica tentatively opened the book. “Don’t tell him I showed you, though. I’m pretty sure he’d murder me.”

“Right,” Pacifica said distractedly, stopping at a page that read _Gnomes_ at the top. Under weaknesses was _leafblower_. “What is this?”

“It’s a lexicon of what lives in Gravity Falls,” Dipper said. When she gave him an incredulous look, he straight-up winked at her, like that was a totally normal thing to do. “Never seen anything supernatural around here, have you?”

“You’re crazy,” she said faintly, remembering a talk about wards and protections, how he’d known what she was going to ask.

“If you think _I’m_ nuts, wait until you meet my family.”

She handed the journal back to him without flipping through any more pages and stood. His chuckles followed her out of the boutique they were in, and once again she wished that her father trusted her enough to let her leave the manor alone.

* * *

“Stay here,” he hissed, practically shoving her under the table, and he clapped a hand over her mouth when she opened it to let out a scathing response. “Don’t move. Don’t talk.”

She glared at him.

“Trust me,” he said. His brown eyes were heavy on hers.

For some reason, she knew he meant it. He was protecting her. He was doing his job. And he wasn’t doing it because he was paid, if his last, breathy “ _please_ ” meant anything, if the concern written on his face wasn’t so painfully obvious. Thus she found herself nodding, and suddenly the warmth on her face was gone and he was pacing around her table, muttering under his breath, and then the door opened, closed, and she was alone.

No sooner had he left than a crash echoed throughout the halls, and then footsteps echoed outside the door and that was _definitely_ not Dipper. She knew him well enough now to recognize the way he walked by sound alone, and the stranger was making way too much noise, and then they stopped in front of the door and _oh no. Oh no._

The door opened. Unfamiliar boots came into view, glowing with a unearthly bluish color, and Pacifica remembered violently how the last bodyguard had quit not because of her but because of _ghosts, I swear there were ghosts, I’m not staying here no matter how much you pay me.  
_

The ghost took one step forward and Dipper appeared silently behind it, and the ghost screamed in surprise before some kind of scuffling took place – and then Dipper knelt down and held out his hand and said, “Okay, should be good now. Are you all right?” and then she knew why her father had picked him, and she _knew_ that her heart was betraying her when it flipped once in her chest.

* * *

Dipper was also unfairly charming and funny, at times.

She learned from him that he had a twin sister named Mabel, was the same age as her, had been studying the supernatural since he was twelve, and had originally thought she was a brat. (He also said he’d been proven right, but there was a joke in his smile and he laughed when she smacked his shoulder.) She also learned that he bit his lip when he was thinking, always had a pencil tucked away somewhere, and would enthusiastically talk about whatever he was interested in for hours at a time.

She came to find that she didn’t mind when he was with her at all times of the day. Her father called and asked about the new guy, and she had responded with a vague “he’s all right, I guess,” and she was pretty sure he was now suspicious – but Dipper was effective, even with his noodle arms and kitten sneeze. Ghosts haunted their manor now for some reason, and he always knew how to drive them off, and she felt safe when she was with him.

And that scared her.

* * *

Dipper stared at her, gaping, when she neatly landed a solid roundhouse kick on the dude in front of her, ducking under a punch and striking another man’s nose with the flat of her palm. Five minutes had passed, and just like that, the five-person team was out cold on the floor and she was wiping slightly-bloodied hands on her dress.

“Finally, I can get rid of this thing,” she said, rubbing the smooth fabric between her fingers, and then she looked up and asked, “Something wrong, Pines?”

“Uh,” he said, the first time she had heard him sans eloquence. He didn’t know what to do with his hands; his fingers kept clenching and unclenching in front of him, and then he swallowed and said, “Would it be weird if I said that was awesome?”

Pacifica laughed, and she startled herself with how free it sounded, how happy it sounded. Why hadn’t it always been like this – a bodyguard she liked, one she could trust, one who had protected her and now one she had protected?

“You protect me from the ghosts, Dipper,” she said with a grin. “I’ll keep you safe from anything else.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dipper said, grinning back, and maybe she was just imagining things, but the flush of his ears matched her cheeks exactly.

* * *

“Happy anniversary, Paz.”

She turned in her desk to find him leaning on the doorway of her room. He had something rectangular-shaped in his hands, and she looked at it and then his face, eyebrows furrowed.

“What for?”

He shrugged. “It’s been a year since I was hired. I figured I should get something, because according to your dad, no one seems to get this far.”

Her mouth thinned, and he noticed immediately because he straightened and walked closer, gift now behind his back – but she held up a hand and he stopped, just like that. “You shouldn’t have,” she told him, instead of launching into a rant about her father, about how he’d called her up a few days earlier and told her that he was coming home with her mother at long last, asked if she’d taken good care of the manor, informed her to get the place clean before they arrived, how he’d never once asked after her health.

“Yeah, well, your dad’s kind of a jerk, and I figured you could use the pick-me-up,” Dipper said and god, she liked him so much and he didn’t even know. “Even better, I’ll tell you what it is. You know how I was supposed to write reports back to your dad every week?”

“ _Ugh_. Yes.”

“Here, read what I wrote.”

He handed her the thing and it wasn’t even wrapped; instead it was notebook paper covered in a black scrawl, and she picked one from the middle at random and read _You may want to invest in Tupperware. I’m pretty sure you waste enough food every week to feed everyone in Gravity Falls for maybe a month._

“And he hasn’t fired you?” Pacifica asked aloud, genuinely startled.

“Apparently, I’m good at my job.”

He sent a smirk her way when she looked at him flatly, and her heart skipped a beat and she was had never felt this way about someone in her entire life.

(He was blushing just as hard as she was, though, so at least she wasn’t the only one caught flatfooted.)

* * *

Her parents came back, marveled at the state of the manor, praised Pacifica not for her successes but for her neat and presentable appearance, and then promptly disappeared into their room. A few minutes later, they were out of the house and going through the town, and Pacifica stomped to her bedroom, threw herself onto her bed, and screamed long and loud into her pillow.

“Are they always like this?” Dipper asked from outside the door. She let out another muffled scream in response, and he whistled. “Wow. No wonder you’re so uppity.”

“Shut up,” she said, rolling over to glare at the ceiling. “You don’t know anything.”

“Well, they treat you like dirt. I bet if you mess anything up, they’d punish you for like a year. And what was up with the bell?”

“Do me a favor and smash the damned thing.”

“You want me to?” She didn’t answer, and he pressed, “Pacifica, whatever they did to you when you were younger isn’t just unhealthy, it’s morally wrong. So if you want me to smash that bell, then I’ll do it. With _pleasure_.”

He said the last word with an acidity she attributed to things that had tried to hurt her. Whenever he was caught in a conversation with a ghost or a demon or something else in the manor, that was the tone she had heard, at least.

“Please don’t get caught,” she said, because he would listen if she deterred him but she really did not want to.

“As if they ever could,” Dipper answered, and when she lolled her head to the side to look at him, his grin was sharp and dangerous. ( _Just like him_ , she thought, _underneath everything else you can see_.)

* * *

Her parents yelled at her for returning to the manor with slightly shorter hair a week later, and Dipper, in response, merely took her arm and led her straight to the town barber shop.

“They do good work here,” he said when she gave him a questioning look. “Mabel came by and got a pixie cut and it looks _rad_. You’ll look even better.”

“Oh, really?”

He scoffed, but he flushed, too, and he was smiling when he said, “Just imagine the looks on your parents’ faces.”

That was all the incentive she needed, and forty-five minutes later she walked back into the manor with an undercut. Her mother fainted, and her father reached for the bell, only to throw a fit when he couldn’t find it in the pocket of his jacket.

“Thank you,” she whispered to Dipper out of the corner of her mouth, and his hand touched her hip and squeezed briefly before leaving, so swiftly her parents missed it. She could hear him laugh when he heard her breath hitch.

* * *

“Hey, Dipper?”

“Yeah?”

“I finally figured out what to get you for the anniversary thing.”

“It’s been like four weeks, Paz, and you’re _still_ thinking about it?”

“I think you’ll like it.”

As soon as he came closer to see what she was talking about, she grabbed at his collar with both hands and tugged him down until his lips were warm against hers. It lasted but a moment, and then she pulled away and made a face.

“Ugh, you need chapstick.”

“Well _excuse me_ ,” Dipper said, sounding more than a little breathless, his face as red as hers felt, and then he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her again. His hair was soft when she wove her fingers through its strands.

And then, just as luck would have it, there was a shriek at the door and they jumped apart to find her mother staring at them in horror.

Two seconds passed in slow motion before Pacifica said, “Dipper, protect me.”

“I fight the ghosts!” Dipper yelped as she pushed him in front of her. “You fight everything else!”

“You’re the bodyguard,” Pacifica pointed out, and instead of responding, Dipper grabbed her hand, pulled her past her mom, and ran, laughing, towards one of the manor’s many exits.

She was smiling too hard to feel afraid.

* * *

Dipper got fired only three hours later, but that was fine, because he kissed her again right in front of her parents and had the wickedest grin on his face as he whispered, “Is now a good time to tell them that I live maybe fifteen minutes away?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Pacifica said with an almost hysterical laugh, and with Dipper so close and his infectious smile against her lips, she could ignore the outraged screeching coming from her parents.


	4. matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Pacifica is still exceedingly attractive even when wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. It's an added bonus that it matches Dipper's exactly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt today was “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Mabel knitted us matching Christmas sweaters.”
> 
> I feel like I could have made it super awkward and fluffy and cute by having them get together at the end, but established relationships are pretty fun. Let me know what you think!

“Mabel, we don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“ _Everyone_ needs to have at least one Christmas sweater,” Mabel declared, thrusting the red, green and white monstrosity at him with a grin. “Besides, you need something to wear to the party this Thursday.”

“Why are we even going to that? It’s a Christmas party. At the _Northwest Manor_. How did we even get invited?”

“Pacifica asked us to come, dummy!” He already knew that, but Dipper sighed dramatically anyway, pulling the sweater over his head when she gestured at him. She inspected her handiwork as she added, “Plus I made her a sweater too.”

“Is it tradition now?”

“You betcha, bro-bro!”

“Great,” Dipper said dryly, but he would be the first to admit that the sweater was possibly one of the most comfortable things he’d even worn. People could say what they liked about Mabel: she knew how to use knitting needles, and if anyone hurt her he’d fight them to the death. With that in mind, he sighed inwardly, smiled at his twin, and said, “Thanks, Mabel.”

She pumped her fist and held out her arms, and they both chorused “awkward sibling hug” even though the hug itself was quite enthusiastic and involved a lot of back-patting and wheeling around their tiny little attic room.

“So what does Pacifica’s sweater look like?” he asked afterwards, keeping his tone at idle curiosity.

“It’s a secret,” Mabel said with an exaggerated wink.

“That is really not reassuring.”

“Oh, relax! She’ll love it.” Mabel’s smile turned a little sharp, and Dipper raised his hands in a surrender gesture as she quipped, “And if she doesn’t, she’ll have to keep it anyway.”

“You’re heartless, sis.”

“I just knitted you both sweaters! I knitted _everyone_ sweaters! I am heart _ful_.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper said, laughing, only to yelp when Mabel shoulder-checked him into falling onto his bed. It hurt a little, but he was smiling when he exclaimed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” and Mabel was laughing so hard she had to stumble and sit on her own bed.

* * *

He was at the party, leaning against the wall, when someone said from behind him, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Mabel knitted us matching Christmas sweaters.”

He turned, and of _course_ it was Pacifica, and of _course_ she had the exact same snowman on the front of hers, and of _course_ she looked incredibly cute in it. He wanted to kiss her, but her parents were right there – so he refrained and gave her a small smile instead as she joined him on the wall.

“So she did,” he said. “Let’s just say Mabel isn’t subtle.”

Pacifica gave him a look sidelong. “What is she expecting?”

Dipper shrugged. “I’m sure there’ll be mistletoe somewhere along the line.”

Pacifica let out a startled laugh and didn’t say anything more, crossing her arms over her chest. Her parents were further down, chatting amiably with their guests, and even further out was Mabel, leaning over a guy who was clearly infatuated with her. Grunkle Stan were nowhere to be seen; no surprise, really. Dipper was fairly sure he’d return to the Mystery Shack and find some new shiny bauble on display courtesy of the man.

“Hey,” Pacifica said, “Does she even know we’re dating?”

He started laughing, which was answer enough, and Pacifica elbowed him in the side. When he glanced at her, she was looking up at him through her eyelashes, nibbling her lower lip – and then she said with a devious smile, “Perhaps we should let her know.”

* * *

“In front of your parents?” he asked, and his hand itched to reach for hers as he searched her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Please, we’re wearing matching sweaters,” Pacifica said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s already obvious.”

“Well, Mabel doesn’t know.”

“But she’s been trying to get us together for almost a year,” Pacifica countered. “And we’ve been going steady for maybe two months. I trust you.”

“But – ”

“It’ll be _fine_ , Dipper.”

“I’m not worried about her,” Dipper said, and the want, the _need_ to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear, to hold her hand, to hug her, something, _anything_ was killing him. Still, they’ve moved to a more conspicuous part of the large ballroom, each holding a champagne flute in their hands; until he was absolutely sure that she was okay with it, he wasn’t going to budge. “Your parents are crazy. What if they disown you?”

“I’m too much of an investment for that,” Pacifica said with a dismissive wave of her hand, and Dipper hated how she could refer to herself as an object so easily.

“You’re absolutely, one-hundred percent positive this is okay?”

“Dipper,” she said, and now she set her flute down on the windowsill and put both hands flat on his chest. He wondered if she could feel his heartrate start racing under her touch; probably not, thanks to the ugly sweater. “Stop stalling and kiss me.”

“There’s no mistletoe,” he pointed out, putting his own flute down, but before she could respond he slipped one hand around her head and ducked down. There were startled exclamations from nearby as he ran his teeth over her lips, and she hissed at him to _stop smiling, I can’t kiss you properly when you’re smiling, Dipper_ , and then he pressed down on the space between her shoulder blades with his fingers and she gasped into his mouth, and he felt heady and light.

“Cheater,” she muttered when they broke for air. The party still continued around them, but they had begun to attract a crowd – and her parents were among them, if Dipper being suddenly wrenched away from her wasn’t any indication, and so was Mabel, if the high-pitched keening sound meant anything.

* * *

Mabel got to stay at the party, but Dipper was led out and politely told to leave before the door was slammed in his face. He shook his head with a grin, running his tongue over his lips, and merely circled back through the garden to where he knew Pacifica kept the window unlocked. By the time he slipped into the empty room and out the door, Pacifica was already waiting in the hallway.

“Slow,” she said, mock-scolding.

“Pardon me, my lady,” he shot back good-naturedly, shaking out the snow that had collected on his sweater. She wasn’t wearing hers, he noticed, and he asked, “Did your parents take the sweater away?”

“They tried,” Pacifica said. “Then Mabel swooped in and claimed it was hers because ‘twins match!’ or something.” She gave him a sly look. “She said to tell you to give yours to me.”

Dipper complied without a word, handing his sweater off to her before asking, “How long was she screaming?”

“You’d’ve been proud of her. It only took thirty seconds before she was babbling coherently.” He shook his head, smiling, only to have Pacifica take his hand and lead him down the corridor. It became obvious fairly quickly that she was taking him right back to the party, and when he squeezed her hand she said with a tone of finality, “You’re dancing with me at least once tonight, Dipper Pines. Then we’re going to find mistletoe, and then we’ll run away from my parents.”

“Why did I start dating you?” he complained, but then she whirled around and slammed her mouth against his and she was intoxicating and yup, that was why, and then she pulled away and he said a little dazedly, “We really need to find some mistletoe.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said with a fond grin, and then there was music and light and soft voices and laughter, and they both ignored her parents glaring at him as they took to the dance floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I myself do not own an ugly Christmas sweater, but I hear they the norm both in America and in England (and are called 'jumpers').


	5. still standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacifica has always been a fighter, but sometimes she has to wonder if there’s any point to it with the sky so unchanging and fear hanging so low it’s like a fog.
> 
> But Dipper keeps going, so maybe she should, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt today was ‘Weirdmaggedon,’ and it was a really weird chapter to write.

Pacifica had not been expecting her first thought to be _t_ _hank god_ when she first laid eyes on Dipper, but there it was, and he gave her a wide-eyed glance in return when he saw the shovel in her hands, blade sharp and her stance ready to swing.

He looked worn. Tired. His shirt and vest were torn and bruises and scratches peppered his skin. His hat was still planted on his head, there were shadows under his eyes, but he cracked a smile and Pacifica held back as his family swarmed him and his twin and Wendy Corduroy and Soos. Pacifica closed her eyes, breathed in quietly –

and snapped them open again when her father’s disfigured face flashed through her mind, and she wiped at her eyes before they could start tearing up and turned away. Dipper was breathlessly telling his story to the people surrounded him, his voice high and cracking, and she went to the back of the room and sat down hard on the floor, head in her hands as her shovel clattered down beside her.

She was so scared. Her hands hadn’t stopped trembling since she’d held onto her mother and screamed at her father writhing on the pavement. But she took in a long inhale and held it for ten seconds. She exhaled and her heart slowed its panicked tempo, and she did it again and again and again.

She was scared, but now she had hope, because if Dipper and Mabel and Soos and Wendy had managed to survive out there, maybe they had a chance after all.

* * *

“Pacifica?”

She started, shoving one hand through her hair as she looked up. It was... Mabel. Mabel, looking fresh and clean and so unlike her companions, and her eyes were huge with concern as she crouched down in front of her.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked, and Pacifica felt her lip tremble.

“What do you think?” she snapped, but there was no anger in her voice, only weariness. Mabel reeled back regardless, and Pacifica had the heart to feel guilty. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s okay,” Mabel said, standing up. She looks just a little crestfallen, but what had she expected? A cheerful greeting like the world hadn’t gone to hell?

“It’s not your fault,” Pacifica assured her.

Mabel’s eyes darkened suddenly, and Pacifica tilted her head at her – but she didn’t say anything more, instead giving Pacifica a sad little nod before moving off. Pacifica watched her go for a few minutes before looking back at her toes, and not for the first time, she wished she was wearing pants instead of a dress.

* * *

She didn’t know how long she sat there listening to the quiet conversations going on, but suddenly she was startling awake with Mr. Pines’ hand on her shoulder. She was grateful when he held out a hand and helped her to her feet, even when Mabel gave her a weird look from across the room; and then he told her she’d still be sleeping in the attic, but with the twins this time, and she looked like she needed a nap. She nodded wordlessly and did as he bid her, making sure to grab her preferred shovel before leaving.

She knocked before she went into the attic. Dipper was in when she opened the door, and he glanced up and then back down at his hands as she padded inside. There were shadows seemingly inked underneath his eyes, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not with that haunted look in his gaze.

“You look exhausted,” she said softly. Mr. Pines had found a collection of old blankets and comforters for her and had left them on Mabel’s bed, and she took a few and began making herself a nest on the floor.

“I am,” Dipper replied, voice hoarse. He laughed hollowly, and she made a quiet hum of agreement, stooping down to settle into her pile of blankets. Dipper seemed to be watching her out of the corner of his eye, but she didn’t say anything and avoided his gaze and she shifted, trying to get comfortable.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, once she had curled up into a ball and was just about buried in her comfy cage.

“I may not answer,” Pacifica said, voice muffled. “But go ahead.”

There’s a long hesitation before he speaks. “How did you get here? You’re one of the last people I would,” he cleared his throat, “Um, no offense, you’re one of the last people I would have expected to come here.”

He was right, in many ways. Pacifica battered away the flare of hurt because even she knew that she’d been the rich brat in a mansion, safe and trapped in her parents’ wealth. She could hardly fight, couldn’t speak, could only run, and she didn’t know what to do. She had no experience in this kind of thing; she hadn’t been the one to save Mabel from her prison. (If she was hearing the story right, at least.)

“Where else was I supposed to go?” Pacifica said, and she tried to rein in the bitterness in her voice but couldn’t quite manage it. Dipper winced visibly and she muttered, “You always seemed to know what to do in supernatural situations, and I just. After my parents – I came here, because I thought it would be safe. Safer. I don’t know.”

_Keep the floodgates closed. Don’t think about it. Keep looking forward. Don’t let the floodgates open._

An inhale sounded suspiciously like a sob, and she sucked it back in as fast as she could. Maybe Dipper noticed, maybe he didn’t, and Pacifica huddled deeper into her cocoon and shut her eyes tight, trying not to think of her father’s face, of her mother’s scream. She was ice. She was nothing. She was fine.

(No, she wasn’t.)

* * *

The only person who really knew what happened to her was Dipper’s great uncle, and she wasn’t about to change that because – because she was shattered, she thought, or maybe she was still falling apart and couldn’t pick up the pieces. No one should watch their father be transformed into a monster in front of their eyes, watch their mother be dragged away screaming, watch the world around her burn to really weird ashes, and think to themselves _serves them right_ as they run away.

But _she_ had.

She had run and run and run, gasping, crying, so, so afraid and burning with justice, wickedness clenching her heart as she tried to find her pity and remorse – and then Mr. Pines had found her, and he’d brought her here, and she’d been lonely and terrified and miserable ever since.

She wasn’t useless. She’d been taken impromptu lessons from just about everyone on how to wield a weapon – most often her shovel in her case, sometimes a rake if someone else needed it. Poles in general, which made sense, because she did mini-golf and she had a tremendous swing.

She _wasn’t_ useless, but it sure felt like it when the sky didn’t change color.

* * *

Dipper was asleep when she woke up the next morning with a horrible crick in her neck, if his soft, even breathing was any indication. Mabel’s bed was empty but the covers were thrown off to the side; below, she could hear hushed chatter and creaks and clangs of silverware.

She turned to look at Dipper and startled, badly, when she saw he was in fact awake, and he was watching her intently, and he didn’t say anything as she turned away and hunched into herself, pulling her blanket around her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” he asked after an eternity.

She let out an empty laugh; _like brother, like sister_. But instead of a snappish remark, instead of a lie, she told him, “No,” and smiled a small, broken smile when he stared. She’d never noticed his eyes before – well, she had, but watching her father’s mismatched features had instilled a new appreciation for that kind of thing, and she saw now how expressive they were, how they were wide with concern.

For her, someone he barely knew – for her, someone he’d once hated. She could respect that. It wasn’t hard when she already respected him.

She added, “Then again, I don’t think anyone is.”

She was expecting some kind of agreement as she first got onto her knees, then to her feet. She wondered if it was worth standing, if it was worth fighting, and then Dipper’s feet fell lightly onto the wooden floor and he was stepping towards her and her blanket cocoon.

“I, uh,” he said, and he cleared his throat when she looked at him. His hair was still mussed from sleeping, and even though the bags under his eyes hadn’t disappeared, he carried himself with an inner strength she longed to have. “I was... really happy to see you were safe. Yesterday.”

“Were you?” she asked, and it was meant to come out coy but it came out disbelieving, came out suspicious.

“Of course I was,” he said indignantly.

“Dipper,” she said, and then she stopped, and then she tried, “I don’t think that,” but that wasn’t right either, and she blew out a breath and said, “You remember how you helped me at the Manor?”

“Category ten,” he said, and he winked, miming walking into a pillar. The scene came back to her vividly and she cracked a smile. (How did he have the ability to joke in times like these?)

“We haven’t spoken since then,” Pacifica said, and god, she was so _tired_. “I didn’t know if we were friends. And yesterday, I didn’t really talk to you, so I just assumed...”

She should’ve finished the sentence. She didn’t. It didn’t matter in the end, because Dipper had a contemplative look on his face before opening his arms and saying, “I think a hug is in order.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Pacifica said, almost tripping over her feet as she tried to back up, “I haven’t showered in forever,” but then his arms were around her, her blanket fell to the floor, and his hands were warm on her back. After a few seconds, she hesitantly hugged him back, and then she felt the telltale sting in her eyes and held onto him like a lifeline.

* * *

The hug lasted maybe two minutes. It was hard to tell, honestly, because Pacifica could feel Dipper’s face buried in her hair and she had pressed her forehead to the side of his neck, and they were both shaking.

When they finally broke apart, Pacifica had to wipe her eyes because they were dangerously close to spilling, and Dipper couldn’t quite look at her, face flushed. He was cute, she realized distantly, and maybe if she hadn’t been so blinded by her arrogance she would’ve noticed that sooner. (And god, she wished she had.)

“We should go downstairs,” she said in the meantime, gathering up her blankets and beginning to fold them, mechanically. Dipper made a move as if to help, but in the end he stood and waited until she had a neat square pile.

He held the door for her, she grabbed her shovel, and they went down together. She tried not to think about it too hard.

* * *

Breakfast was a somber affair. They still had enough food for now, but with this many people, they wouldn’t last longer than a week. Pacifica didn’t have much appetite to begin with, though, and she didn’t speak beyond a soft _good morning_ to those who greeted her. If it really was morning, she thought, glancing out the window; it was impossible to tell.

“So I have a plan,” Dipper said after a while, and not everyone was there to listen so Mr. Pines ushered them to the living room and Pacifica volunteered to collect people from the various places in the Shack. They couldn’t just yell anymore, who knew who was watching, and so she ran from room to room and told people what was going on, trying not to look as miserable as she felt. Dipper had a plan, Mabel was going to help, everyone had their place and their role, but what was she supposed to do? She was useless, she was deadweight; what was the point of even pretending she was strong, as she clenched her shovel in her hands?

“Of course he does,” Wendy said with a fond grin when Pacifica got to her, and then the smile faded and she looked down at her and crouched down. Pacifica looked away as the teenager scrutinized her, but all Wendy did was put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze before standing and walking out.

( _I’m not alone_ , she thought, repeated it like a mantra. It didn’t stick.)

She quietly made her way upstairs to hide away in the attic as Dipper’s voice filled the small building. The less she was seen, the better, but it made her chest feel hollow when she thought about what came after. If everything worked out, if everything ended up safe, she’d go back to her parents’ suffocating hold on her life. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want Weirdmaggadon, either, but she really didn’t want that, and any middle ground she could see yawned before her in a giant chasm.

* * *

“I thought I might find you here.”

Pacifica didn’t stir from her nest of blankets. Dipper got down next to her and there they sat, together but not.

“Why bother?” she said after a lasting silence, almost inaudible. Dipper had to lean in to hear her, and so she raised her voice and said, “You need to go stop Weirdmaggedon, not worry about someone who can’t even do anything to help.”

“See, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Dipper said, and she rolled her eyes and finally turned so she could see him. He wasn’t looking at her. “We do need you, Pacifica.”

“For cannon fodder?” she asked dryly, but he knew he had her attention.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “We need you so we can sneak into your house.”

The wave of crushing disappointment is unexpected, but it takes just a moment for Pacifica to pinpoint why: they don’t need her as a person. They need her wealth. They need the resources in the Manor, and they need her knowledge of its blueprint to get there.

“Navigator, then cannon fodder with shovel,” she said, and then she nodded and said, “Got it. When do we leave?”

“You’re not cannon – ”

“Don’t lie to me, Dipper.”

“I’m _not_.”

“We’re not friends. You helped me once and we got along, but that was it. How can you talk to me like this when I tried to make you and Mabel suffer?” She gave him a brittle smile. “So thanks, Dipper, for trying to make amends. But I get it. You don’t need to strain yourself.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Trying to tell someone that I think they’re one of the most amazing people I know.”

Her heart stuttered. She said on autopilot, “You don’t mean that.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

She let out a quiet hum and murmured, “You gave me a newspaper article about my family once.”

He flinched. “Not one of my best moments, but. Yeah. Haven’t lied to you.” A brief pause, and then he repeated, “You’re amazing. Please help us.”

The untruth of that statement ran hot and sour in her veins, but she suddenly realized she could not wipe the small smile off of her face, and then she knew there had never been a choice to begin with. Dipper was standing tall in the face of impossibility, and where she had given up he had fought back without reserve.

“Okay,” she said, and he smiled and maybe he was as tired as she was, but shame on her for giving up so easily. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, this was a really weird chapter to write. Why?
> 
> Firstly, I don’t want to even try to anticipate what will happen in the finale - I like to stay in the canon universe when writing in the canon universe, thanks. Secondly, these kids have been on the run for a long time, don’t have their parents with them, and are the only thing standing between an all-powerful dream demon and the end of the world. I'm pretty sure the first things on their mind is not _wow there's my longtime crush!! Let's get it on!!_
> 
> Thirdly, they’re twelve. (Fine, almost thirteen.) As much as it delights me to ship these two characters, having them kiss when they’re _twelve_ is weird. Twelve year olds are not ready for a romantic relationship. (I promise to any twelve year olds that this is true. Romance is, on occasion, not as great in practice as it sounds in theory.)
> 
> Also, Pacifica lost her _parents_. She watched her dad’s face turn into a monstrosity. So maybe some lasting PTSD, not to mention Dipper was basically told by his uncle that _you are the only one who can fix this_ , and just. Nope. Absolutely not. Very little romance in this one. My apologies.


	6. home is where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pacifica, the icing is supposed to glue the pieces of the house together. It’s not just for decoration.”
> 
> Pacifica looked up from where she was icing shingles on one of the roof cookies, and there was a tone of betrayal in her voice as she said, “They don’t give you actual glue for that?”
> 
> “You’re supposed to eat the thing when you’re done, so, no.”
> 
> She thought about this for a moment. “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand back on track with lots of fluffiiness after the awkward last chapter. Aha. 
> 
> The prompt today was “failing at making a gingerbread house.” I have lots of ~~embarrassing~~ prior experience to fall back on, but I didn't really touch on any of that in this chapter, unfortunately.

There were instructions on the box, but Pacifica shared Dipper’s sentiment that they didn’t need them. They were, after all, fairly intelligent adults who could feed themselves, were in the process of getting a higher education, and had their own separate incomes. Surely a gingerbread house could pose no threat to their combined smarts.

“Pacifica, the icing is supposed to glue the pieces of the house together. It’s not just for decoration.”

Pacifica looked up from where she was icing shingles on one of the roof cookies, and there was a tone of betrayal in her voice as she said, “They don’t give you actual glue for that?”

“You’re supposed to eat the thing when you’re done, so, no.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Oh.” While she was distracted, Dipper nabbed the tube of frosting from her hands, and Pacifica yelped, “Hey, I wasn’t done yet! At least let me finish the design.”

“Just make more frosting. I’d rather have the house actually standing first.”

“This is why neither of us are majoring in architecture,” Pacifica noted with a harrumph, grudgingly conceding defeat when Dipper’s height kept the stolen icing from her. “Also, do I _look_ like a cook to you? Do you remember what happened the last time I tried to make scrambled eggs?”

Dipper followed her gaze to the dent in the ceiling and said, “Yep. Better be careful this time.”

“You’re not going to make it for me?”

“I’m not your servant, my lady.”

“Boo,” Pacifica said with a pout. “Please?”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please?”

“Nope.”

“Ugh,” Pacifica said, and then she reached up, yanked his head down, and he let out a startled sound when their teeth clacked together unexpectedly. He knew what was happening, though, and held the tube safely out of reach as she kissed him, both arms looping around his neck as she subtly tried to reach for it.

“Predictable,” he breathed when she pulled back, nudging her cheek with his nose.

“So you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks,” Pacifica fired back, and he laughed and pulled away, not before she pressed her lips on the junction between his jawline and his neck. “Fine, I’ll make it myself. Consequences be on your head.”

“It’s not my fault you suck at cooking,” Dipper said, and he was quick to shield his face with his free hand as she swatted his shoulder.

* * *

“Well,” Dipper said, elbow deep in the gingerbread house’s barely-standing walls, “this is a disaster.”

“At least it’s not my fault,” Pacifica said with a haughty sniff.

She yelped when Dipper flicked a bit of frosting onto her face. “We would’ve had plenty of icing to keep things together if you hadn’t used it on the shingles.”

“Hmph. You have to admit it looks pretty good, though.”

“One side, at least. It’s a little lopsided on the other.”

She smacked his shoulder, but she was grinning. “Shut up, Dipper.”

He winked. “I will if you hold this in place.”

She made a mock-disgusted sound and did as he bid. They worked in silence for a few minutes, Pacifica keeping plates of gingerbread steady and still as he iced them into place, occasionally sharing groans of frustration when things fell apart – but finally the structure was sound enough to remain standing on its own.

“And now for decorations,” Dipper said, taking Pacifica’s hand to place the now almost empty tube of frosting in it. “To which I leave to you, Paz.”

“What an honor,” she sneered.

“Only the best for you, my lady,” he said, and she dropped the frosting on the floor when he raised her fingers and kissed each knuckle. She giggled at him, flushing a pleasant pink, and he shot her a grin.

“ _You_ are a giant sap,” Pacifica said when he was done, shaking him off to retrieve the dropped icing.

“You love it,” he pointed out, and she huffed but didn’t correct him.

* * *

“Dipper, stop eating the gumballs!”

He popped the last white one in his mouth. “Too late.” There was so much gum in his mouth that it came out completely garbled, and Pacifica let out an exasperated sigh.

“How many do you even have in your mouth?”

_So many_ , he wanted to say. “Thirty-six?”

“And _why_ do you have – however many you said gumballs in your mouth?”

He shrugged at her; _why not?_ But as soon as she turned her back to him, focused on the gingerbread house, he slipped his phone into his hand and quickly blew a bubble, flashing a peace sign as he went to take a selfie.

Pacifica looked over just as he snapped the photo, and she demanded, “Let me see.”

“Nope,” he said, speedily sending the text to Mabel. He knew her number so well that he didn’t even need to look as he wove in and out of Pacifica’s reach, and when he passed by the trashcan he spat the entire wad of the bubblegum into it.

“Dipper – ”

“I’m sending it to Mabel! Don’t worry, you look great.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, thanks.”

He rolled his eyes. “Pacifica, you’re gorgeous, like, _all the time_. I’ve told you that, Mabel’s told you that.”

“Nope,” Pacifica said, per usual, still attempting to see what was on his phone’s screen. Mabel had already responded with a long, incoherent response followed by about fifteen emojis, and Dipper responded by mashing the keyboard.

“Inside _and_ outside,” Dipper promised, before saying, “You have frosting on your fingers, I’m not letting you touch it.”

“Cry me a river,” Pacifica said, and Dipper yelped when she changed tactics and wiped her hands on his shirt instead. “You keep saying that, but you were _there_ when I was twelve and a brat.”

“You were still cute as hell, though,” Dipper pointed out, and he shoved his phone into his pocket and grabbed her wrists before she could pickpocket him. “And you weren’t a bad person.”

“Pish,” Pacifica said, and she leaned up at the same time Dipper leaned down. His grip on her wrists loosened, and before he knew his mistake she had snatched his phone and was tapping in his passcode. He didn’t even try to get it back, instead making a halfhearted mental note to change the numbers again as soon as possible.

“Passable,” Pacifica told him after a moment’s scrutiny, giving the phone back to him. The screen is smeared slightly with residue frosting, but he really didn’t care when she smiled brightly at him, mischief gleaming in her eyes.

* * *

The house, when finished, appeared to be a conglomeration of traditional elements when some oddities thrown in. It was very _them_ , and Dipper would be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

“I still think the heart pretzels are overkill.”

“It’s adorable,” Dipper argued, snapping yet another picture and sending it off to Mabel.

“It’s cheesy.”

“Mm-hm.” Snap. Send. Mabel squees back in text form.

“It’s awful.”

“You don’t believe that.” Snap. Send. He can practically hear Mabel scream with excitement.

“Did we have to add the peeps? I hate peeps. You don’t like them either. Why did we even have them?”

“For science.” Snap. Send. “Remember the Microwave Incident of 2015?”

“At least I didn’t have to clean that up,” Pacifica grumped. Snap. Send. “Are you done yet?”

“Never.” Snap. Send.

“Dipper, you’ve taken like twenty pictures.” Snap. Send. “Twenty-one. Can we just call it done and leave it?”

“Nope.”

Pacifica made an exasperated noise, and with the ease of long practice she wormed her way so she could put her hands on his chest and physically push him away. He continued snapping photos the whole time she was shoving him just to piss her off, and he laughed when she finally knocked the phone from her grip and shoved into the pocket of her jeans.

“I hate you,” she told him.

“That’s too bad, because I love you,” he answered, arms encircling her in a loose hug, and she huffed and turned a delightful shade of red. Not that it meant much; he was just as red, too. “Mission success?”

“If you call _that_ monstrosity a success, then sure.” She hugged him back, and for a few moments they rocked back and forth, unable to find the right balance but not caring.

His phone buzzed in her pocket, and she snapped back at his wicked grin and snarled, “ _Don’t you dare._ ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, hand retreating to her upper back as quickly as it could, and she snorted and shoved him away, shaking her head. He still managed to spin her around long enough to kiss her once, and then she was chasing him, swearing, and thankfully the gingerbread house was still standing as he raced by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gingerbread is not really tasty when it sits out for a really long time, so I can't say I've built a house for quite a few years... lol. Maybe this year, huh?


	7. all I want for Christmas is -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Pacifica’s first Christmas away from home, and she’s not sure how to feel about this. Meanwhile, it’s Dipper’s first Christmas, and so far, he’s enjoying the whole _not doing anything_ on Christmas day.
> 
> It turns out the only present they need is sitting right in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt today was “First Christmas morning as a family,” which means FLUFF. FLUFF EVERYWHERE. HOLY GOD. 
> 
> Warning for gratuitous cuddles.

Pacifica woke up to find the bed colder than she remembered. It took her a moment to realize that Dipper wasn’t there, that his side was empty; _too bad_ , she thought, pulling over his covers so she could wrap herself up in a blanket burrito. She wasn’t sure how much time passed when he walked back inside the room, but she was awake when he let out a huff of amusement, and she knew he saw her grin.

“Feel like sharing, Paz?”

“Mm. No,” she said, unmoving.

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.” She pulled the blankets more tightly around herself.

“Positive?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Okay,” Dipper said, and she _knew_ that tone of voice. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Don’t you dare – ”

She cut herself off with a shriek when he unceremoniously reached over and yanked the covers from her grip. She fought valiantly, knuckles white as they held on, but in the end she lost the uppermost comforter and Dipper slipped in next to her. He didn’t seem to mind that she kept her back to him; instead a hand reached up to trace the curl of her ear, comb through her hair, brush against her cheek.

“Morning,” he said after a while, and while he spoke softly, she could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

“Grinch,” she muttered, grudgingly relinquishing the blankets as she rolled over to face him, cuddling close to press herself into his chest. He was unfairly warm.

“Hey, _you’re_ the greedy one who took all the covers.”

“You’re the one who left,” Pacifica shot back, wrapping her arms around him. He did the same, resting his chin on her hair, as she tucked her face between his neck and shoulder. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Mm. Eight or something equally ridiculous.”

“It’s already _eight_?”

“I can’t believe you call that sleeping in,” Dipper said. She couldn’t see him roll his eyes, but she would bet money that he did at that moment. “I’m still tired from the party yesterday. How can you not want to sleep right now?”

“You’re just lazy,” she said, releasing him and shifting to get up, but he hooked a leg through hers and pinned her into place. She didn’t resist, melting back into his warmth as one hand ran up and down her back.

“It’s Christmas day, Paz. What were you planning to do?”

 _Get up. Find my parents, get them their presents. Eat breakfast with them, talk about upcoming tournaments and banquets and events, prepare a list of New Year’s Resolutions. Make sure each relative received their gift, find a suitable replacement if they didn’t. Find the perfect outfit for the upcoming New Year’s masquerade party; go through the guest list and figure out what needed to be said. Check over menu to make sure it is suitable – mother will quiz about the champagne and the latest fashions and our cousin’s newest baby. Remember to ask about the girl from Father’s tennis club, make sure she found a sponsor somewhere. Get up, there are so many things you need to do, get up get up get up_ –

She didn’t notice how long she remained silent until Dipper asked, “Pacifica?” His voice was quiet and gentle, and she once again hated how easily he could read her.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. I... nothing.”

He moved slightly, one hand sliding up to her neck as his lips pressed against her forehead. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“No,” Pacifica whispered, “You’re just good at seeing right through me.”

He hummed in agreement. She could feel it vibrate in his ribcage. “What’s up?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, before he asked, “Your parents?”

Sometimes she forgot that Dipper was her best friend – that he knew things about her that no one else did, not even Mabel or her parents. He knew how she liked her coffee, her favorite colors, how she despised flowers and couldn’t cook and really, _really_ hated sleigh bells; and he knew about her parents because she’d told him about them, and he knew firsthand what they were like.

“Usually I would be up at dawn today,” Pacifica muttered, eyes sliding shut. “Preparing for next year.”

“And what was next year?”

“New opportunities. Obligations, for both me and my parents. A lot of shopping.” So much shopping. She did most of it online now. “Just... busywork, I guess. I don’t know. It seemed normal back then.”

“Perks of being Jewish,” Dipper said with a chuckle. “Days off for no reason, and an excuse to do nothing. Our new year is in September, usually. Although there’s no Christmas, which is, admittedly, kind of fun.”

“What about Hanukkah?”

“That was a while ago,” Dipper answered. “And compared to Christmas, there’s not nearly as much pizzazz. Still fun, but different.”

“Huh.”

He pulled away briefly. “But we’re getting off-track.” She didn’t meet his eyes, even when he raised her head with a finger under her chin. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

How could she possibly explain this to him? She knew that he would understand, but was there any way to explain the hopelessness she felt when her parents stared down at her, disapproval hardening their eyes until it prickled her skin? How she had waltzed with cousins and uncles and old men who’d leered at her and asked how she was, how she couldn’t step on a few toes when a stranger felt a little too bold? How each step, each gesture, each glance was measured and manipulative, crafted to perfection and unreadable as stone?

“I don’t know how to say it,” she said at last, flicking her eyes up to meet his. His expression was unguarded and open, something only she and Mabel were privy to see, and his lips pursed in concern as she ducked her head again. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he said, and his hands came up to cradle her face as he kissed her once, softly, gently. “Let’s get up, then. I’m sure Mabel snuck at least twenty presents in the living room while we weren’t looking yesterday.”

“What happened to not doing anything?” Pacifica asked, and she followed him when he began to move away, languidly pushing herself onto her elbows when he sat up.

“I’m thinking maybe a movie,” Dipper explained, standing up and stretching. He turned to her and offered a hand afterwards, which she took with a small smile. “Cookies, popcorn, I don’t know. I’m expecting a lot of sitting today.”

“Gross,” Pacifica said, and some of the darkness in her mind reared back when she set her feet on the hardwood floor. Dipper had already fetched her slippers, and she put them on idly.

“Don’t try to squirrel out of it,” Dipper said with a grin and gleaming eyes. “I’ve got Mabel on speed-dial if you escape.”

“Is that a threat?” Pacifica asked, laughing.

“It could be, if you’re not careful.”

“Ooh, frightening. Fine, I guess I’ll sit with you and watch your abhorrent movies.”

“Hey, I’m generous. I’ll let you pick the first one.”

“Mm? How about that chick flick Mabel and I’ve been planning to see for a while?”

“I was going to that too, remember?” and Pacifica remembered that oh yeah, this was the kid that bawled when Mufasa died in _The Lion King_ every single time they watched it. “Do your worst, Pacifica Northwest.”

“I want to take your last name,” Pacifica said without thinking, and the world slowed to a halt and both of them froze, just for a moment, as they processed her words.

 _Crap._ She backtracked mentally and started babbling, “Not to pressure you or anything, or even suggest something, I just, if it happened, I – I’m making this worse, um, forget I said anything.”

A pause. It spanned an eternity. Then:

“I love you,” Dipper said simply, neatly pivoting to face her. His expression was dead-set serious. “I respect you. I’d follow you into hell.”

Her heart beat hard and steady at the confession; already, her answer had formed on her tongue, as she remembered yellow triangles and her father’s distorted face, floating eyeballs and Weirdmaggedon.

“I love you. I respect you. I _have_ followed you into hell, and I’d do it again,” she said, stepping up to him, and his smile lit up her world, even if his hair was disheveled and he hadn’t showered yet and he could be so insufferably annoying. There was another pause wherein the only thing she could see was his warm eyes – and then she added, “Merry Christmas.”

“My new favorite holiday,” Dipper declared, and she let out a startled laugh when he picked her up in a hug and spun her around, once, before setting her down again, grinning widely. “Anyway, movies, sugary stuff, then maybe – ugh, I should tell Mabel, but that’s not something I want to do right now.”

“She’d definitely make you do something,” Pacifica agreed with a vicious grin, and he smacked her shoulder when she started to laugh, trailing after him as they went to the kitchen.

“She’d take me ring shopping is what she’d do. After asking you a bunch of questions, and after confirming at least ten times that no, a bedazzled ring won’t work.”

“I don’t know,” Pacifica said with a thoughtful hum, “My parents would hate it.”

“... I’ll tell her we’re considering it.”

“Are we actually?” Dipper turned to look at her from where he was pouring himself a glass of leftover eggnog, and she swallowed and went on, “I really meant it when I said I didn’t want to pressure you or anything. I’m not sure if I’m ready for it either, but it’s – are we really considering this?”

“Paz,” he said patiently, and he handed the glass off to her, “We’ve been living together for three years. Think of the financial gains we’ll get if we get married.”

“Oh, I see how it is, you just want me for the money.” Dipper barked out a laugh as she sipped her glass, exaggerating the scandalized look on her face. “Well, joke’s on you, buster, my parents haven’t given me a penny since I moved in with you. What do you say to _that_?”

“They’re missing out,” Dipper said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Which is great, because now you’re all mine.”

“Possessiveness is a red flag, Dipper. If there’re three red flags, I’m supposed to leave the relationship.”

“Mabel probably has more red flags than I do, in that case.”

“Besides the point,” she said with a sniff, and he laughed. “Anyway, I was expecting movies. Where are they?”

“The beauty of Netflix,” Dipper answered, and she was startled to realize she hadn’t thought of her parents once since she actually got to her feet. She also realized she’d forgotten to brush her teeth when Dipper leaned down and kissed her, one hand encircling her waist, but the thought was secondary to his warmth and the happiness beating quietly in her chest and the stubble beneath her fingers as she drew him closer, eggnog forgotten on the counter.

“I know I said this already,” she said when they broke apart, breathless, “But I love you.”

“Thanks,” Dipper said snippily, and she shoved at him with a snort as he crooned, “But I love you _mooooore_.”

“Let’s not make it a challenge, Pines,” she said, smiling, and when they walked by the presents in the living room her smile widened – because Pacifica had already gotten the most precious thing she had ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I actually made it to the end of the week! Incredible. _Incredible_.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the kudos and kind words! I really do appreciate it. I don't know when I'll dabble in Gravity Falls again, if ever, but I definitely enjoyed my brief stint here, and I hope you did too. Have a marvelous Christmas (if that's your thing), and have a wonderful new year!


	8. Day 1, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Alternate universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Objectively, the well-used florist and tattooist AU is the best AU possible. Inspired by [this post](http://demisexualmerrill.tumblr.com/post/145668425096).

Pacifica only noted him because he moved into the storefront right next to hers - an interesting decision, considering she ran a rather lucrative tattoo parlor and he, beyond having looping tattoos adorning what she could see of his arms and legs, was a florist. They never spoke much beyond basic pleasantries when they ran into each other in the morning, opening their stores for the day, and all Pacifica knew at the end of a month was that his name was Dipper Pines and his smile was always small and preoccupied.

He was… cute, she supposed. Tiffany in particular always brought it up even though she was already seeing someone, nudging her shoulder with a grin, and Pacifica would brush her off and continue sketching on some loose printer paper, pretending she wasn’t blushing. He never spoke to her, not really; he gave everyone in the strip mall older flowers that didn’t sell, still good but just a little droopy, at the most, before going home alone and humming something under his breath. She got yellow flowers most often - acacias, apparently, when she asked.

(Tiffany never let her forget how she included more and more yellow in her designs. Especially when she broke up with her boyfriend and spent a lot more time drawing in her sketchbook.)

Such as it was when, instead of opening her store in the morning after greeting Dipper with a hello, she turned to lean on her door and said, “You know how to say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”

Dipper blinked at her. She kept her eyes on his, idly noting the script curling around his forearm wasn’t in a language she could read, and after a few moments, recognition dawned on his face and he asked, “Is that the guy who came in and asked for a bunch of white roses? Black hair, brown eyes, wearing a polo, about yay tall?”

“I think so,” Pacifica said, noting the height indicated matched her ex-boyfriend’s, relatively. She wasn’t surprised that he remembered the details; most of the people that shopped around here were memorable some way or another. “Never did get those roses, though.”

“Eh, they’re shit apology flowers - people confuse their meanings all the damn time. Should’ve gotten purple hyacinths,” Dipper said dismissively, folding his arms across his chest. Pacifica eyed his arms; there were solid muscles under his ink. “Wouldn’t listen to me, though, kept ranting about some blonde who couldn’t take a joke or something. Assume that’s you.”

“Probably,” Pacifica said with a sigh, though she wouldn’t call hitting on another girl while she was right next to him a joke. “Can you help me out?”

“Yeah, of course. When’re you going to deliver it? Right now?”

Ha! She wished. “Probably during lunch. Guess I should come back later?”

She could see Dipper visibly hesitate, and she understood why when he asked, “How about you eat in my shop? No pressure, but it’d make it easier for us to pick out what you want.”

Pacifica blinked at him. Dipper gave her a smile - not the small one she was used to, but a wide, genuine one, like he sincerely wanted to spend time with her and pick out a bouquet of flowers that told Alfred exactly how much she hated him. And maybe he did, considering all of those tattoos; he would be interested in her trade, after all.

(He _was_ cute. And, god, his tattoos were exquisite. She’d love to get a closer look at them.)

“Sure,” Pacifica said, smiling at him. It was a good thing Tiffany wasn’t around yet. “I’ll pay you back.”

“If you inked me sometime, I’d consider it even.”

“Deal.”

His hand was larger than hers when they clasped their fingers in a handshake, and she couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face as she bid him farewell. Neither could he, and they spent a few seconds stupidly smiling at each other before bursting into laughter and darting into their respective shops before it got worse.

It was going to be a lovely day, asshole ex-boyfriend and all.


	9. Day 2, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot borders on NSFW. You have been warned!

Dipper knows something’s up when Pacifica barges into his room and she’s got just one more button loose than usual, chest heaving as she leans over to catch her breath in a way that allows him to get a clear… view.

“You’re not dressed for a run,” he says mildly, setting his book open on his lap as his eyes rake from her feet to her perfectly-coiffed blond hair - skirt, aforementioned button-up blouse, neat little sandals, eyes half-lidded she straightens up with a grimace - “What happened?”

“Mabel happened,” Pacifica answers, putting both hands on her hips as she huffs, adding a little tilt that bordered on sensual. Dipper keeps his gaze trained upward.

“What was it this time?”

“That new girl she’s dating - Bella? Stella? - they’re making out on the armchair. Very, um, aggressively. As you do.”

She shifts slightly and her shirt rides up for a few seconds, just enough to get a glimpse of skin, tapering out and then in slightly from her hips to her waist. Dipper makes a conscious effort not to lick his lips, neatly bookmarking his page to set his book aside, folding his hands over his stomach as he remains reclined in his bed.

“This is why I don’t hang out with Mabel whenever she goes on dates,” Dipper says presently. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, casually pulling on the collar of his shirt as his hand returns to its perch on his stomach. Pacifica pretends, valiantly, that she hadn’t been watching his every move. “Somehow, she always gets her tongue down their throats.”

“Dipper, it’s their first date.”

“So?”

Pacifica scoffs, hands falling to her sides - not without sliding down her legs, of course, as she bends the extra distance to remove her sandals. She’s not looking, so Dipper lets a competitive grin curl his lips; by the time she’s standing, delicately stepping out of her sandals, he’s moved his hands so that his shirt is riding up, scarred skin of his stomach showing just a bit.

“I just thought she’d show a bit more restraint,” Pacifica says after a while. She hasn’t stepped closer - not yet. She’s thinking about it, though, he can tell.

“Like us?”

She raises her hands to pull her hair up and out. It’s a good move: her shirt rides up, her whole body moves in a way that accents her curves ( _damn_ , that’s all he’s got to say about it), she’s looking directly at him and it’s almost too much. Almost.

“Exactly,” Pacifica says, and Dipper twitches at how low her voice is. She notices, too, just his luck. “I’m not surprised, though, I guess. Well, not too surprised.”

Dipper smirks, slow and sure, and shifts his arm so they pillow the back of his head. His shirt pulls up a bit more; Pacifica’s eyes instantly dart to the exposed flesh, then back to his face. Her cheeks are starting to look a little pink, but she’s nowhere near close to backing down, even as she steps closer and seats herself next to his prone form.

“Changed your perfume,” he says after a few moments, going for idle and sounding a little too casual.

“Creep.”

“Guilty as charged. What happened to the lavender?”

“Thought it’d be nice to have a change of pace.” He reaches a hand out to wrap an arm around her middle, only to let out a startled ‘oof’ when she decides to flop backwards onto him. Her face is maybe an inch away from his, on his pillow, her breath ghosting across his ear. “Lily-of-the-valley. What do you think?”

“I like it. And thanks for the warning.”

“That’s for being a creep.” He inhales sharply when her lips press onto the skin just behind his ear, sensitive and gentle.

“I just have a good nose,” he manages, hating how uneven his voice sounds.

“That doesn’t justify anything, asshat,” she whispers, and in a bout of revenge Dipper slips his fingers under her shirt, just a little, rubbing circles in the space just above her hip. She’s ticklish around there but not at that very spot; he’s had a lot of practice figuring out what works and what doesn’t. He’s rewarded handsomely, in any case, as a nip to his earlobe turns into a gasp, and when he turns his head to look over at her, her eyes are slightly glazed. As are his, he would guess.

“Neither of the grunkles are here,” he says after a while of watching her face, noses almost touching but not quite, his hands gently exploring the skin of her back as she presses her hands flat on his chest.

“That’s irresponsible of them,” she replies. “Better for Mabel.”

“I sense an addendum there.”

She smirks, and his eyes fall to her lips unwittingly. “And us.”

He breaks. He always breaks first, almost lunging forward to close the distance between them, and she makes a pleased hum as he pulls her closer, one of her legs slipping between his as she slides her arms around her neck, hand knotting in his hair. The contact is too hot on a day like this, especially in the attic, but Dipper couldn’t bear pulling away, not feeling the heat of her skin against him, and apparently neither can she because her vice grip doesn’t loosen even when they break for air.

“I win,” she gasps out as he kisses his way down her cheek to her collarbone.

“Shut the fuck up,” he answers lowly, kissing her pulse (it’s racing - _ha_ ), and she laughs and laughs, breathless, until he finds her lips again.


	10. Day 3, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I miss you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a doozy to write; I went through about seven other ideas before finally settling on this one. Jeez.

Pacifica was just flipping her physics textbook open to page eighty-seven when it struck her, quietly and sneaking like it had been waiting under the surface of her skin. The chatter from other students faded away as she stared down at the kinematics problem set, pencil threatening to fall out of lifeless fingers as the graph paper in front of her waited impatiently for her hand. When she blinked, she was startled to discover her eyes felt hot and itchy and - and then she suddenly was doing everything she could not to cry.

None of the other students so much as glanced her way. She’d become isolated as the years had gone on, fighting her way out of her parents’ influence and setting off into the world independent and alone, and it didn’t use to bother her so much because she had friends in people she really did care about. But it wasn’t summer anymore. Those friends weren’t here. She raised a hand and delicately wiped at her eyes, just so to ensure her makeup didn’t get smudged, and then she exhaled slowly and wrote at the top of her page _Pacifica Northwest, page 87, #1-5, 7, 8-15_. She would not show weakness in front of her peers, not like this.

She ended up staring at the blank piece of graph paper until the bell rang, and then she packed up her bag with mechanic motions and darted out of the room before anyone could see her face. Fortunately, she had lunch this period, which gave her time to make her way outside, away from the courtyard and towards one of the many secluded spots around the school’s perimeter. The first one she had to go past because of a couple boys holding hands and she understood why they didn’t dare do those things in public, but the next hideaway was open. 

She settled back against the school’s brick wall, bag to her left, and fished out her phone. She didn’t know what she was doing until she went to her speed dial and had her phone to her ear. It rang once before he picked up and said, “Hey, Paz, what’s up?” over the noise in the background.

It was stupid how that dumb nickname just _broke_ the dam. She hated this, especially so when she sniffed and his voice, teasing before, became a little bit concerned as he asked, “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” she lied because what else was she supposed to say?

“Oh. I thought… well, okay.” A beat. “You’re not in the middle of class right now, are you?”

“No,” she said with a weak laugh, pressing her free arm against her eyes, ignoring how she shuddered. “It’s my lunch break.”

“Okay, good - you know how bad it would be if you missed biology again.” The joke fell flat. Pacifica could imagine him wincing. “Hang on, I’m gonna go someplace quieter.”

She hummed in acknowledgement and listened as the noise she could vaguely hear slowly went away, Dipper’s quiet breathing the only thing indicating she wasn’t moping outside her school alone. She couldn’t help a smile; he’d kept his phone to his ear the entire time he was walking, despite not saying a word. What a dork.

“Okay,” Dipper said after a few more seconds, cloth rustling in a way that suggested he had just sat down. “Lay it on me. What happened?”

She didn’t know what to say - not without telling him that she’d called him in a spur-of-the-moment decision because she was lonely in this small town of Gravity Falls. She would sound pathetic. She _was_ pathetic. She couldn’t afford to lose one of the only friends she had because of how pathetic she was.

“Pacifica?”

“Sorry,” she said, or tried to say - it came out choked, and with a hot rush of shame her prickling eyes spilled over. “I’m sorry,” she said again, ragged and terrible and this was so, so dumb, her pressing her arm harder against her eyes and curling in tightly on herself.

“Are you - you’re crying. Okay. Shit.” A pause, after which his voice was more controlled. “What happened?” When she didn’t answer right away, he asked instead, “Would it be easier if I asked yes or no questions?”

“Y-yes,” she managed, and good god, Dipper had gotten better at comforting people after all of this time. Would wonders never cease.

“All right. I can do that.” He sounded so calm. She latched onto his voice like a lifeline. “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?

“No. I’m not hurt. No one hurt me. I’m f-fine.”

“Okay. Are you somewhere safe?”

“I’m outside. Close to the school.”

“Great. Good.” There was just a bit of underlying tension in his voice; he wasn’t as calm as he sounded. “Is it - was it something someone said?”

“N-no. It…” Pacifica felt her throat close up around the words before they could even try to get out, and instead she found herself saying, “It’s stupid. It’s - it’s really, r-really stupid. Never mind. Bye.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Paz.” She stopped halfway through doing just that, put her phone back to her ear as Dipper said fiercely, “You called me, started crying, and now you’re trying to convince me nothing happened? No. You’re doing the thing again.”

 _Shutting me out_ , he was saying. Pacifica swallowed hard and whispered, “Sorry.”

“I know you are, and please don’t ever think you need to be about this kind of thing.” Here he took in a breath. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She couldn’t make her lips move. Her tongue felt like an unwieldy weight in her mouth. Dipper added, “ _Please_ ,” his voice plaintive and soft and gentle and coaxing -

\- and thus she found herself blurting, “I miss you,” followed shortly by a strong sense that if she were to die right now, it wouldn’t be a terrible thing.

There was a long pause.

“Oh,” Dipper said. And then, again, softer: “ _Oh_.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and now the words were coming out freely, in a rush, “I shouldn’t have called, I’m probably just b-bothering you, I didn’t mean to take up your time - ”

“Pacifica, stop talking.” She did. “It’s fine. You calling me up after we haven’t seen in each other in a couple of months would never bother me. And, hey,” he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice, “I miss you too. Thought I’d have to admit it first, though.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, smiling a little bit despite herself. He didn’t hate her, he didn’t think she was weak, he didn’t think she was pathetic; he said he missed her too. All of that worrying for nothing - but she should’ve known that already.

“In all seriousness, though, are you all right? It can’t be easy out there with your - parents.” He spat the word out like it was poison.

“I can manage them,” Pacifica assured him, because she could, and she had been for a while now.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

She could hear the hesitation in his voice when he said, “Mabel and I can come visit soon. If you want. We have a long weekend coming up.”

It would be selfish of her to say yes, and Pacifica had been selfish for many years of her life. It was enough knowing that Dipper didn’t think less of her even when she started sobbing over something stupid. She was going to be okay.

“Don’t spend the money,” Pacifica replied, wiping her face one final time. “I’ll be fine.”

“All right,” Dipper agreed, his tone of voice indicating he would drop the subject, at least for now, but not happily. “I’ll Skype you, then. Mabel’s going to be pretty busy with her dance troupe, so.”

“Okay,” Pacifica said. She still had twenty minutes before lunch ended, but she stood up and swung her bag over her shoulders nonetheless; she’d have to stop in the bathroom to fix her makeup before anything else, though there wasn’t much she could do to hide her blotchy eyes. “Um. Thank you, Dipper.”

“Yeah, of course, Pacifica.” A pause, and she began walking. “Hey, do you have anyone you talk to up there?” 

Her silence was answer enough. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dipper said, sounding equal parts sheepish and apologetic. “I keep forgetting that - well, Mabel and I are always together, even after Weirdmaggedon. Not everyone has that.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Dipper said. “It’s really not, Paz. Don’t try to shoulder everything yourself. I should’ve called you.”

“I don’t need babysitting,” Pacifica said with a snort. It drew some attention in the hallway, and she ducked her head; the bathroom she was aiming for, one that didn’t get much traffic, was still a few minutes away, unfortunately. 

“That isn’t what I said.”

“Look, just because I have to follow the ‘Never Mind All That’ Act doesn’t mean me breaking down is a regular thing; I can handle myself, no friends here and all. What happened just now? That was a momentary lapse.”

“Which could have been avoided if we just _talked_ to each other, you have to admit that much.”

She did. She wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of her saying it out loud, though, as she snickered into the phone, and he chuckled a little too, ruefully, before saying, “Well, you sound better, and I have to get to class - so I guess, uh, talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later,” she confirmed, and that didn’t seem to be enough but she couldn’t think of what else to say, of what to call the yawning, yearning feeling in her chest. “Bye, Dipper.”

“Bye, Paz.”

She hung up after listening to five seconds of silence, absorbing the fact that she was lonely but she wasn’t alone - it was only then that she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, head high even with mascara running, as she made it to the bathroom. Only a few people bothered to stare, but that was fine; none of the girls in the bathroom talked to her as she washed her face and reapplied lipstick, but that was fine, too. She might not have her parents’ fortune backing her way, but with people like Dipper at her side, she could never lose, not really.

“It’s not weak to ask for help,” she muttered to herself as she went out of the bathroom, and for the first time in a very, very long time, she smiled of her own volition.


	11. Day 4, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Late nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite chapter of the week. Enjoy!

“That,” Dipper says, for the umpteenth time, “is a terrible idea.”

“No way,” Pacifica answers, grinning as she rests her chin on her hand. Somehow her hair is still long and straight and perfect, draped over her shoulder, and Dipper feels a dull sense of longing to brush his hand through it. Not that he could, considering she’s many miles away from him and he’s looking at her through a computer camera, but also because that would be Weird and she’s so far out of his league anyway. “It’ll be fun.”

“It’s only fun if you have a lot of people playing. This is just roundabout interrogation. That’s illegal.”

“It isn’t, and you just implied that Truth or Dare could be fun.”

Dipper swears, once, loudly. Mabel, from her room across the hallway, echoes it back at him, just barely audible through the walls separating them, as Pacifica laughs. He’s not going to ask why she’s still awake.

“Fine,” he relents. “Because I’m sixteen and Never Have I Ever is what teenagers do.”

“Good,” Pacifica says. The feeling that he’s making a big mistake intensifies into a small, hot ball right in the center of his chest. “I’ll go first.”

“By all means, Your Majesty. This peasant doth awaiteth your command.” Dipper puts up ten fingers as he says this, bowing in his chair. Pacifica gives him a dirty look, though he can tell she doesn’t really mean it, before her expression morphs into a more thoughtful one.

“Never have I ever set someone’s hair on fire,” Pacifica says after a few moments.

“Do gnomes count?”

“I’d say gnomes are people, at least in the ‘I think, I am’ sense,” she replies and, oh yeah, she’d spent a lot of time with a few gnomes in the Mystery Shack four years ago. Dipper sticks his tongue out and tucks in his left thumb against his palm while Pacifica smirks winningly, waggling her fingers. (His heart flips in his chest.) “Your turn.”

“ _Ugh_.” It takes him a few seconds to think of something, and he ends up with “Never have I ever dyed my hair.”

She doesn’t put a finger down, which he has to raise an eyebrow at seeing as both of her parents are brunettes, but she also has an expression on her face that says very clearly she isn’t about to explain. “Never have I ever played Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.”

“Okay, now you’re just fishing,” Dipper complains, putting his left pinky down.

“That’s how you win, dingus.”

“This is a competition?”

“Your turn, Dipper.”

He sighs. His eyes are starting to droop and it’s past two in the morning, which means these disguised questions will surely take a turn for the interesting. (Interestingly personal, he supposes.) “Never have I ever had shoes that cost more than a hundred dollars.”

She scowls as she puts a finger down. “Never have I ever gotten an allowance.”

“ _What_?” _But you’re rich_ goes unsaid.

“My parents just give me their credit card whenever I shop,” she clarifies. “I have spending money.”

“Oh.” Dipper almost thinks that that should count, but he won’t split hairs. He’s down to seven fingers. “Never have I ever called anyone but you ‘the worst’ to their face.”

To his surprise, Pacifica puts a finger down, though she’s giggling at the throwback to their younger days. “My parents, at least once a week,” she explains, before going on, “Never have I ever written a checklist of how to act in a social situation to impress a girl.”

“Shut up, who told you about that? Wait, no, it was Mabel, obviously. Shut up,” he says again, playfully annoyed, and she only stops laughing when he sighs dramatically and says, “Never have I ever dated someone solely because they were the most popular person in school.”

“Not one of my best decisions,” Pacifica agrees with a nod. Two fingers down for her. “He was attractive, though, you have to give him that.”

“Sure, if you think brainless hunks of muscles are attractive.”

“Oh, hush,” she sing-songs, “You’re just jealous.”

“Of course,” Dipper deadpans, and it’s only because it’s so late at night that that sends Pacifica into almost hysterical laughter. He can’t help cracking a grin and he waits until she’s down to uncontrollably giggles before he says, “Never have I ever had a crush on someone at my school.”

This is toeing a dangerous line, but it’s late, they’re already on the relationship portion of the game, and his exhaustion’s peeling away his caution - and, to be honest, he isn’t blind, and there’s a chance he isn’t misreading the signs. Maybe.

“That can’t be true,” Pacifica says as she puts a finger down. “No way. You can’t love your books that much.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dipper says, trying for cryptic and just sounding tired.

Pacifica wiggles her eyebrows at him, which is a hilarious image; he can’t help the bark of laughter that comes out of his throat. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll find someone.”

 _Already have_ , he thinks. “Your turn.”

“Never have I ever dated someone I actually wanted to date.”

“What? Unbelievable. What about that guy you used to talk about all the time - Quinn, right? You wouldn’t shut up about his gorgeous blue eyes, like, _ever_.”

“Nope,” Pacifica says, gaze flicking down away from his.

“Wow.” They’re not even keeping track of fingers now, and he props his chin on his hand, mimicking her. “Never have I ever told a crush outright that I like them.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Neither have I, though.”

“Both cowards, huh,” he says with a faint smile.

“Weirdmaggedon means nothing to you?” Pacifica counters, but without any bite. “Never have I ever stayed up past - ” and here she checks her computer’s clock - “three A.M. talking to someone over Skype. Though that won’t be true in about ten minutes.”

Dipper takes a deep breath. He’s only this courageous because - because he’s not sure, not really, but these ‘never have I ever’ statements have been slowly growing closer and closer to a subject that before they have only danced around. He’s not sure if he’ll ever have the guts to do something this blatant ever again.

“Never have I ever accidentally said ‘I love you’ to someone.”

There is the slightest pause.

“You said it to me, once, I remember,” Pacifica says, wrinkling her nose. “After that troll hunt went terribly. Pick something else.”

Dipper remains silent. And after a few long endless seconds, Pacifica’s eyes widen, slowly, as it clicks.

“Oh,” she says, as if the world had spun on its axis. (Which was a shit simile because the Earth spun on an axis anyway, so maybe if the world had turned upside down - and Dipper deftly shuts down that part of his brain.)

“Yeah,” Dipper says, quietly.

“ _Oh_.”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Dipper says again, carefully controlling the well of disappointment growing in the pits of his stomach with the grace of a three-legged centaur. 

Pacifica stares at him like she’s never seen him before in her life, and he vaguely begins to wonder - maybe he could write this off as late-night delirium? Just go to bed and pretend he had no idea what he had said when she would inevitably ask about it the next day?

“Pacifica,” he says, and it comes out as a plea, “say something, please.”

She sets her jaw, crosses her arms over her chest, and leans back in her chair, never once breaking eye contact with him. He can feel himself physically shrinking under her stare.

It’s an eternity later before she snaps, “You have the worst timing. I’m not _there_. I’m not with you. I can’t - I can’t do anything about this.”

He takes a moment before starting, “Wait, so you - ”

“Dipper Pines, I was going to ask you out on a date when you came out for the summer if you didn’t have the balls to ask me,” Pacifica says, utterly serious, and Dipper can only gape for what seems like a long time but in reality is probably only a few seconds. It is incredible how delicious relief can feel, it really is - and he can feel a smile slowly growing on his face, mirroring hers across the screen.

“You also have horrible timing,” she adds after the silence goes on for just a beat too long. “That’s still on the table.”

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “It just seemed like a good moment.”

“A _good moment_? You’re terrible. I hate you.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” she grumbles, and then she presses a kiss to her index and middle fingers and puts them against her camera, just for a second. It’s surprisingly personal and Dipper’s breath catches in his throat. “Shut up. It’s too late for this. I’m going to bed so I can process it and we’ll talk tomorrow morning or else.”

“So bossy,” Dipper says, unable to keep a laugh from escaping him. “Okay. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Dipper.”

“Night, Paz.”

(It’s a sign of how much pent-up worry and stress he’s been bottling up about this when he quickly falls asleep, only moments after he collapses into his bed at the wondrous hour of three in the morning.)


	12. Day 5, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Monster hunt.

“I’m so sorry you had to get involved in this, Paz.”

Pacifica couldn’t even find it in her to assure him she was fine; she could only stare in silence at the pale face of the gangly boy across from her, unaware of her gaze and cautiously peering through the forest. She swallowed hard and tried to get her tongue to move, and instead her throat constricted and she could only make a quiet, high-pitched keening sound.

“I think we’re safe for now,” Dipper went on, shoving both hands into the pocket of his hoodie as he slowly pivoted on his heels, taking in all of the scenery around them. Pacifica continued to stare. “Wound’s probably not deep enough to stop it, though, so we should keep moving. Can you walk?”

He finally looked over at her. Conveniently, her knees decided that that very moment was an excellent time to give out from underneath her, and his eyes widened as he stumbled towards her and said, “Pacifica!”

“I’m okay,” she whispered, holding a hand up and effectively stopping him in place. “Just - just give me a m-minute.”

“We can’t wait, Pacifica, that thing’ll be back any second.”

“Please,” she said without looking at him, focusing on taking deep breaths, willing the warm blood in her veins to turn to stones. “I’m sorry. It’s just - the sounds it made - ”

“Yeah, I know, it makes whatever noises scare you the most, but it isn’t _real_ , Pacifica. It can’t hurt you.”

That forces a laugh out of her, a hollow, broken little thing. Dipper takes another hesitant step towards her, and this time she doesn’t bother holding up a hand; not like she could stop him, anyway.

“What could you possibly know about how _I_ hurt, Dipper?” she asked him, taking his proffered fingers with hers and letting him pull her to her feet. She swayed in place, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady herself briefly before letting go as if she’d just touched hot iron. “Anything can hurt you if it tries hard enough, and that - that _thing_ \- it tried. It succeeded.”

And, as if on cue, a bell rang out through the silence.

She hugged her arms around herself, shuddering, and forced herself to breathe calmly, slowly, as Dipper looked about them again. She could see the exact moment the realization hit him, though, and when it did, he whipped his head around to look at her, expression wide and open and unguarded as he began, “Wait, that’s - ”

“My father’s bell, yes,” she finished, quietly.

Dipper blinked slowly at her, almost catlike in his intensity. His question came out as a growl. “Your dad still has that?”

She didn’t dare answer. She was already showing enough weakness as it was, and she knew that if she spoke, her voice would crack and she would break down and it was only the force of her own will that kept her from crying right this second.

“I’m going to hit that piece of shit and I’m going to enjoy it,” Dipper muttered darkly, and Pacifica let out a squeak of alarm as he swept one of her arms around his shoulder, one of his looping around her waist. Warmth filled her at the sudden contact, spreading from her chest to the rest of her limbs as she processed what he had said, but he was already moving on and telling her, “C’mon, we have to move. Monster hasn’t hurt us yet, but it will if it can get close.”

The bell sang out again, a sweet, soothing, saccharine sound that had Pacifica gritting her teeth, trusting Dipper to guide her as she put all of her attention into moving her legs.  “Where’s your stupid journal that will solve all of our problems?” she asked after some time had passed, she wasn’t sure how long. Time was a flexible, mobile concept when terror ruled one’s mind.

“At the Shack,” Dipper answered. Somehow, despite his swift pace, he didn’t look or sound the least bit winded. “Mabel, Grenda and Candy went to go visit the barf fairies or something.”

She let out a weak chuckle and said, “You actually went out of the Shack to see me without your favorite, precious, treasured scrap of paper?”

“Shut up. And, well, yeah,” Dipper said, and he sounded embarrassed. “Life’s not all about old musty books and monster hunts.”

“I’m flattered that you consider me above ‘musty old books’ and ‘monster hunts’. Really, I am.”

“God, Pacifica, you know what I mean.”

They both tensed up when a bell rang out again across the landscape; but it wasn’t until they heard a very familiar laugh did both of them freeze entirely, breath lodging in their lungs. The silence that followed was somehow cacophonous in its nothingness.

Dipper was deathly still.

“Dipper,” Pacifica whispered, after seconds had passed and his breathing was harsh and shallow and uneven, “Dipper,” she said again, hesitating only a moment before taking her arm off of his shoulder in favor of reaching a hand up to cup his face. She startled when his entire head whipped around to look at her, brown eyes wild as they desperately sought out her own, and she gently tucked a strand of unruly hair behind his ear. “You’re okay. He’s gone.” A pause, and then she pressed, “He’s _gone_ , Dipper.”

(He may not know how she hurt but by god, he _knew_ hurt. He had stared it in the eye and shaken its hand.)

“Fuck,” he whispered, shutting his eyes tightly. When they opened again, his gaze was clear. “Dammit. Sorry. Let’s keep going.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not yours, about him, about that stupid fucking bell,” he answered. She tried to smile but it was small; still, he returned it, and the arm around her waist tightened as he said, “Come on.”

The monster was mercifully quiet as they finally reached the fringes of the forest and burst into an open clearing. From here, Pacifica could just see part of Susan’s run-down diner; it was doubtful the thing would have chased them this close to town, but they wasted no time moving towards civilization nonetheless.

They had just set foot on a sidewalk when Dipper said, “Hey, Pacifica?”

“Yeah?” she said.

“Does it - does it ever get easier?” His arm was still around her waist as they stopped walking, and he stepped away so that he could face her instead. She mourned the loss of contact briefly, though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, not ever. “Managing it. The… fear.”

“Easier isn’t the right word,” she answered, precise, succinct.

“You calmed yourself down without my help, but I - without you, I would have lost it when I heard his laugh.” Dipper looked equal parts hopeful and defeated, and Pacifica didn’t even think when she reached out and took his hands in hers. His fingers were cold. “Will I get better? Ever?”

“I don’t know,” Pacifica said, because she wasn’t a psychologist and, to be honest, she knew jack shit about mental health. Hell, she’d only learned using a bell to control a child wasn’t normal when Dipper had pointed it out to her years ago. But then she gave it some thought, just a few seconds worth, and she realized something else, enough to add on, “You shouldn’t have to deal with it alone, Dipper. I have help. I have Mabel, and your uncles, and I have - I have you. You don’t like asking for help. Maybe that’s why it’s so bad.”

“Maybe.” His voice was haunted, and she squeezed his hands when his eyes closed. After a moment, he squeezed back, and then he cracked a weak grin and said, “Um, so I guess taking a walk in the forest wasn’t my greatest idea.”

“Not many other ways to get my parents to let me out of the Manor,” Pacifica said with a small sigh, to which Dipper chuckled, somehow making it sound apologetic. “It’s fine. Let’s just - let’s just do something else so I don’t have to go back yet.”

“We could go eat something.”

“Call it a date and I’ll consider it,” she teased because she did not want to waste his money when she knew he would squirrel the bill away from her before she could even see it. He and Mabel always did that and, in fact, Pacifica had once seen Grenda and Mabel reduced to a fistfight over paying the tab at the public pool.

“Sure.”

… Suddenly Pacifica realized she was holding his hands and Mabel insisting Dipper did want to date her came to mind. She hadn’t known it would be this easy, and so -

“I’m buying,” she said as quickly as she could.

“It’s not really a date if I don’t buy the food.”

“Stop conforming to traditional gender roles, it’s disgusting.” She wasn’t sure what drove her to let his hands go in favor of pulling his face down to hers, but she did it and kissed him solidly on the mouth, just once, before letting go and looping her arm through his. “We’re going somewhere cheap.”

“Actually, I vote you do that again,” Dipper said breathlessly and Pacifica stopped to look up at him. He was beet red. It was _adorable_.

“We haven’t even had a first date yet.”

“Uh-huh, like the last fifteen times we’ve hung out didn’t count as dates.”

“You’ve been _counting_?” Shit, that was also adorable. A little weird, but also very Dipper and thusly very adorable. “But we’re in public, so no.”

He fixed this problem by dragging her around the corner of a building - the one at the end of the street, hidden from view in town and facing a gravel road surrounded by forest - and, not seeing any good reason why she shouldn’t, she got on her tiptoes, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him again.

(And if they heard soft, almost apologetic whistling from the forest behind them - well, they could forgive, though maybe not forget.)


	13. Day 6, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Prom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went one direction and then veered into a very different direction in the span of two sentences. I had to go back and fix everything and I am still not sure how that happened.

“After-parties cross the veil or something. I bet there are ghosts around the place.”

Dipper laughs, a little too loudly, but he really doesn’t give a shit when a few people he’s never seen before look over at him. Pacifica’s heel-clad feet are in his lap, a bowl of yogurt-covered pretzels resting in the crook of her arm, she’s smiling wide as she meets his eyes, and seeing her so relaxed and unguarded is - is really new, actually, and he can’t help but like it.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he says, making a vague gesture to the place around them. “The Shack’s a messed-up place.”

Pacifica pops a pretzel in her mouth and, at his gesture, tosses one high and arching towards him. He manages to catch it between his teeth as she says, “Not a half-bad scene for post-Prom, though. Think Mabel will announce some kind of horror-themed scavenger hunt soon?”

He almost chokes on his pretzel as he demands, “How did you - ”

“Oh, please, it’s something she would totally do,” Pacifica says with a grin. He gave her a dubious look until she cracked and admitted, “I saw the team assignments on her phone the other day.”

“Mabel is unpredictable, Paz, you should know that by now, so pardon me for not believing you. And, speaking of teams,” Dipper says, lifting his head up and glancing around the living room, squinting at the disco-ball array of lights glittering all over the place, “We should probably find our dates before they think we’re cheating on them.”

“I guess so,” Pacifica agrees, and she throws another pretzel into his mouth as she swings upright and gets to her feet. She looks amazing, that’s all Dipper can say about it, a long, flowing lilac dress that cinches her waist and flows around long legs. She offers a hand to him, one he takes but quickly releases once he’s up, and he follows her towards the kitchen as she says, “I’d be more worried that Ian is cheating on me, to be honest, so I’ll just come with you.”

They exchange glances and shrug; Ian isn’t out to most people at school and Pacifica was an easy, willing cover for him on prom night. It’s almost one-hundred percent likely that he’s cheating on her right this very second, considering Chris is also on the premises.

“Pretty sure Candy will be around the fondue fountain,” Dipper muses, and when they poke their heads into the kitchen, his hypothesis proves correct. His date gives him a wave and a grin that almost seems - encouraging? - over her drenched chocolate-covered strawberry, and he furrows his brow and decides not to read into it too much as he waves back. They both enter into the kitchen proper, and he’s a little confused when Candy leaves the room as Pacifica places the bowl back where it belongs, but he doesn’t wonder about it as he says, “Maybe we should go find Mabel, ask about that scavenger hunt.”

“If she still has that megaphone I let her borrow, I don’t think that will be hard.”

Pacifica’s right, as she’s wont to be: all they have to do is follow the loudest noise, which admittedly is a lot of things, but Dipper has a keen ear for his sister’s voice and it only takes them a few minutes to navigate through the sea of people on the makeshift dance floor outside. The DJ is some kid from their grade and, so far, is doing a good job, because Mabel’s standing on a crate yelling obscenities and Dipper covers his eyes when a pained moan when she starts to twerk.

“There, there,” Pacifica says mockingly, patting his arm.

“There are some things you can’t unsee, Paz,” he answers, keeping his arm over his face. “Is she done?”

“No. Give it a few seconds, she’ll stop - okay, you’re good.”

“Bro-bro!” Mabel shouts immediately following, and Dipper cringes as she hops off her box and pushes her way towards him, megaphone to her face as she asks him at point-blank distance, “Is it time for… _dancing_?”

“No,” he says sharply, firmly, covering both ears with his hands. Beside him, Pacifica has done the same, and Mabel lowers the megaphone with an apologetic smile. “Not even if you paid me a hundred bucks.”

“Oh, come on,” Pacifica teases, lightly punching his shoulder. “Loosen up a little, Pines.”

“You tricked me,” he tells Pacifica instead, eyes glinting. “You knew exactly where Mabel was. You knew that she’d try to make me dance. Was the whole thing about a scavenger hunt a farce?”

“Yep!” Mabel says cheerfully, and Pacifica’s smile is completely guilt-free. Dipper groans.

“I feel betrayed, Pacifica. _Betrayed_.”

“Don’t be so uptight! It’s a party, go bananas!” Mabel says, and then she’s off, roped into some kind of mosh pit while somehow keeping a firm hand on her megaphone.

“I already did enough dancing at the actual prom,” Dipper complains as Pacifica pulls him towards the fringes of the actual dance floor. “What more do you people want?”

“Mabel says you took competitive ballroom dance classes,” Pacifica says as if he hadn’t spoken, and Dipper’s jaw drops at his sister’s utter betrayal as she says, “If there’s a circle of dancers at some point, you better bet we’re gonna go in it.”

“You’re the worst,” he exclaims. “You’re the absolute worst.”

“You say the sweetest things,” she replies without missing a beat, smiling slightly. “Don’t be such an ass.”

“I haven’t done it for a while,” he insists, shaking his head, “There’s no way.”

“Oh, lighten _up_ , Dipper. No one will care. They’ll think you’re awesome regardless of what you do.”

“Are you giving me a pep talk?”

“Yes, because you’re chickening out before anything’s even happened. That’s what friends _do_.”

“ _Friends_ don’t make other friends do something they’re not comfortable doing.”

“Oh my god,” Pacifica says, rolling her eyes, and he startles when she reaches down to kick off her heels. “I’ll be dancing with you, don’t be such a pansy.”

“Are you serious, you’re going to try to ballroom dance with someone who hasn’t done it for _years_ \- ”

“I’ve got a decade of experience, Dipper, I’ll manage with a potentially piss-poor partner,” she interrupts, and, to accent her point, she does a little twirl and curtseys at him. Her dress twirls with her, a single strand of hair works free of her elaborate braids pinned in place, a smile touches her lips and her eyes glitter and Dipper barely snaps back to reality in time when she says, “C’mon, you owed me a dance anyway.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh and allows her to take his hand, the other settling on her waist. It’s her that pushes closer to form the standard V position, but he’s the one who leads; thankfully, the mosh pit has dissipated because of the slow music that’s been playing for a while, so he trails all over the dance floor as he argues, “I will pull a muscle, or maybe a seam in this suit. I can’t afford either of those things, Paz.”

“Don’t be so whiny. It’s not like I can’t just pay for it,” she counters, and before he can insist he doesn’t need her charity she sweeps on, “Why are you so against this? You’re doing fine right now, and literally the worse that could happen is you embarrass yourself in front of everybody. We graduate soon anyway.”

“If I’m not careful I could hurt myself or someone, Paz. Just the way it is. - And I’d rather not hurt myself.”

She reaches up and touches a line that cuts from his left ear to the base of his neck and says flatly, “You already do that on a regular basis.”

“Why are you so fixated on this?” Dipper says, as the best defense was a good offense, at least sometimes, also because he was trying really hard not to focus on her touch.

“There are motives to my madness,” Pacifica says cryptically, attempting to sound like a wise old owl and mostly sounding stupid instead. Dipper watches her come to this realization by herself after he raises an eyebrow at her for a solid two seconds, and then she sighs irritably and admits, “I just want to see it. That’s all.”

“ _You_ want to see me bust a move. And, possibly, my back.”

“I just can’t even imagine it,” Pacifica says, making a vague side-to-side motion with her head. “You’re too, like - gangly? I dunno. I feel like if you tried to do any lifts or something you’d drop me and fall backwards and get a concussion and die from cranial hemorrhaging or whatever it’s called.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dipper says dryly. He spins her away from him suddenly, eliciting a surprised yelp, swinging her back in before she can react. She follows beautifully as he dips her, smirking as he pulls her back up, and they immediately afterwards step around a nearby bumbling couple. “You should’ve just asked me from the start.”

“I did,” Pacifica snaps, briefly pressing close as they squeezed through a tight spot. Her perfume temporarily overwhelmed his senses, but only for a moment.

“No, you just kept insisting I _had_ to do it. You could’ve just told me you wanted to _see_ me do it.”

“You’re such a traditionalist,” Pacifica sneers, evading his point entirely. “All it takes is some pretty girl asking you do something for you to do it? What kind of attitude is that?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” Dipper says with a smirk and holy god, he is actually being smooth as hell right now and Pacifica’s cheeks are pink. He had no idea flirting with her would be so… easy? It’s almost practically the same as when they normally converse.

(Somehow, that revelation seems like it should be more earth-shattering than it is.)

“Let’s go find a dance circle whatever,” he says before he can ponder that thought for long, breaking apart from her, close but not touching. The music’s become too bouncy for what they’d been doing anyway. “But if I break something, I’m blaming you.”

“What a prince,” she fires back with nary a pause and, well, it’s not like Pacifica is ever caught flatfooted in situations like these. Well, one day. (Her face is still flushed.) “Lead the way.”

In the end, the dance circle ends up including everyone in the yard, not just a select number of people - courtesy of Mabel, of course - so they don’t have to look far. Instead, they settle at the edge of the circle and clap along to the music as people enter the circle and leave the circle, showing off moves that occasionally make Dipper wince. Doing the worm looks cool, but doing it wrong is painful.

It’s only after three people go in at the same time that Pacifica nudges his arm mid-clap and says, “Losing your nerve, Pines?”

“Waiting for the appropriate music,” he corrected.

“It’s a dance circle. There’s never going to be appropriate music.”

“Ye of little faith.” But he listens, reaching down to take her hand in his, a loose grasp that’s almost entirely unnoticeable. “But fine, since you’re in such a rush.”

“Oh, sure, blame a third party for your problems. Real mature, Dipper.”

“Yeah, but you’re friends with me anyway.”

The minute the people in the circle return to the edges, Dipper steps forward, taking Pacifica with him, and even though it’s very clear to him that they’ve learned different styles of dance and she’s still not quite sure how to follow him, just as he’s not quite sure how to lead her, he’s not nervous. Mabel screams through her megaphone about how that’s her brother and also about Pacifica, but he’s more focused on his feet and Pacifica’s face, flushed and eyes crinkled at the corner, laughing as he spins her and then, feeling brave, goes into a position he only remembers by muscle-memory and Pacifica, reading his mind, lets him lift her.

Her smile is wide and she’s laughing as he carefully sets her down again, and they share twin grins as they do one last sweep around the circle before giving everyone a mock bow. They are rewarded with thunderous applause as they retreat back to the fringes at last, and the circle breaks up soon after; no one wants to follow their routine.

He vaguely wonders where Candy is. She was his friend date, because Mabel had her girl and Grenda had Marius and she so wanted to go in their group without going stag, and he feels a little bad for ditching her. Only a little, though, as Pacifica clings to his arm, still giggling, high on life and adrenaline, and he finds pretty quickly he can’t wipe the smile off of his face.

“Hey, Dipper,” Pacifica says as he’s looking down at her.

“What?”

He knows what she’s going to do before she does it, and he leans down preemptively as her hands circle around his face and pull him in. It’d been building up all night, first at pictures and then dinner and then the dance and this - huh, no wonder Candy had vanished as soon as they had arrived and why Mabel had had a brief conversation with Ian after prom. (Well, he’s sure Ian took no convincing, once he knew Chris would be around.)

He’s sure somebody is watching, but he can’t find it in himself to care, and he has to break away to laugh when Mabel shouts through her megaphone, “ _Finally_!”


	14. Day 7, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Post-series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things to say about this, but all I will say is that I think what it ended up being was a story about how you never stop learning. Or something. Honestly, I’m not sure.
> 
> Awesome time as always participating in dippica week! Hope it happens again sometime.
> 
> (”Sometimes, kindness is all we can give. Sometimes, kindness is enough” - [Overgrowth](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F5734642&t=NWY3MWFmODQ2MGJjNDAzZjQ2NDdjMjFlNjhkYWI1NTY1NzkyMmYwYyxEVThMZlMxUA%3D%3D), an Undertale fic by SociopathicArchangel)

If there’s one thing that Pacifica’s learned when it comes to growing older, it’s this: adults have no idea what they’re doing, but they sure as hell know how to pretend they do.

* * *

And so it is.

Weirdmeggadon, and her parents lose the Manor. They still live comfortably. They still live their life of lies. Pacifica has only one pony.

Twelve-year-old Pacifica fights her parents at every turn - screams, until temper tantrums are no longer a weapon, until being grounded means nothing, until she’s caught burning her family’s portraits; smiles sweetly like poison, speaks sharply like knives, spurns ceaselessly until she’s cast out at sixteen with a sting in her cheek, a tightness in her chest, and a dangerously low amount in her bank account; locks herself in endless battle with her family name until she is righteousness incarnate, untouchable, unmovable, unbreakable. But justice is always aloof and arrogant and alone, and while she has every townsperson’s support, they can hardly begin to fathom how much of her life is - will be - spent running.

She’s eighteen and sits in Lazy Susan’s diner and stirs her coffee to dissolve the sugar, duffel over her shoulder as she flicks her eyes over the acceptance letter from college. She knows one thing for certain: adults never had any idea what they’re doing, and she is no different. She has a high school diploma and a scholarship for a university down in California, she’s got her plane ticket and Robbie’s driving her to the airport, she’s got a debit card and her ID and her laptop and -

Susan puts her plate of pancakes in front of her and leans on the booth as she asks, “Whatcha gonna major in, darlin’?”

And Pacifica looks up, meets the woman’s eye, and says, “Anything that gets me out of here.”

* * *

Freedom tastes bitter, a little bit like black coffee.

Pacifica hefts her two boxes and one backpack to her dorm on her own, gritting her teeth, taking frequent breaks, wishing beyond nothing else she could just sit down and sleep for a million years. There are other students around with their parents and friends, laughing and smiling as they drag their boxes upon boxes to their dorms, and while in Gravity Falls Pacifica kept to herself, never before has she felt so alone.

Another thing she has learned: help will find you much, much faster if you ask for it. She does not need it now, but she knows her dorm room is up two flights of stairs; she will need it then. When she arrives at her dorm, it is largely abandoned, however, which is not a good sign. She sets both boxes down on the ground floor with a twinge in her throat, one that means she might have a breakdown if she doesn’t control it soon. 

She swallows hard and checks her phone for her room number as she goes to get her key; once she has it, she double-checks, triple-checks, and has just slipped it into her pocket when someone comes in, she turns to ask for help, and then -

“Pacifica?” he says, his voice equal parts hopeful and incredulous -

and she has never been so happy to hear his voice, belonging to someone she hasn’t seen in years.

* * *

The Pines twins. Of course.

Dipper carries both of her boxes with ease as they go up the flight of stairs. Freckles dust across his cheeks and nose; his smile is lax and easy. For the first time, she sees his forehead and the constellation where he got his name, and she longs for his world, the one that shaped him into an almost carefree adult who has plans and goals and support holding him up, the one where he is never alone because he has a twin, the one where a bell would never send him into a tailspin of despair and fear.

She feels a faint wave of embarrassment at her ratty jeans and university T-shirt, the nicest piece of clothing she owns, the worn white sneakers and striped socks and baseball cap shoved over long hair. He’s wearing khakis and a polo and sandals and no hat, for once, and he looks proper, he looks casual, he looks… he looks good. It’s not fair. Yet another thing Pacifica has taken to heart, she supposes, as she locates her room only to see the door is open already: life is never fair.

“Pacifica!” someone screeches when she walks in, and Pacifica purses her lip and sidesteps the incoming Mabel hug bullet.

* * *

In one of Pacifica’s two boxes, there are: bedsheets. A comforter. A towel. Toiletries, sealed in a freezer bag. Tampons. A single hairbrush. Extra composition notebooks she’d bought for ninety-nine cents each. A box of pencils. A four-function calculator. Her only set of professional clothes including high heels, the only reminder of a life back in the Manor, the only things to be worn during interviews.

In the other of Pacifica’s two boxes are clothes.

In her backpack, there is the remainder of her limited school supplies, her laptop, her phone, and a framed photograph of her with Robbie, which goes immediately onto her dresser.

In her pockets is the twenty-dollar bill, two quarters, one nickel and seven pennies that is her emergency cash stash, a thirty-two gigabyte flash drive, and the receipt for the pancakes from Lazy Susan’s diner.

Another thing she knows for certain: adults born into privilege think they need so much to live, and the reality is that one can live on so much less.

* * *

The Pines twins stare as she unpacks in ten minutes. They stare as she sets her bed, slowly, agonizingly - Robbie never let her after the first disastrous time, she’s been couch hopping for so long, and before that she had servants do it for her - and they stare as she sits down, puts her head in her hands, and breathes in and out while counting to ten and back, again and again.

The twinge in her throat fades. The burn of the twins’ combined stares does not. She should make herself scarce; invisibility is one’s greatest weapon, she knows. Less attention, less fear, less worry. She couldn’t trust just anybody back in Gravity Falls - she couldn’t begin to guess who her family might be paying off - and even though it’s different here, she can’t risk it. She loses anything, she loses _everything_.

“Pacifica?” Dipper asks, and his voice is delicate, careful. Cradling, as though she is a fragile thing that might break at the merest hint of pressure. “You want to get lunch with us?”

She should disappear. She should hide. She should run.

“I’m broke,” she says instead, feeling her twenty-dollar bill fester in her pocket. She can’t afford to waste it.

“How can _you_ be - ”

Mabel shushes her brother with a hard jab of her elbow, brown eyes narrowed, and Pacifica’s lips thin.

* * *

She and the Pines twins sit in a pretty little cafe in town. She doesn’t order anything and she watches, numb, as Dipper and Mabel dig into their respective sandwiches. They’ve yet to say a word between them.

It’s another five minutes before Dipper asks, “Why didn’t we ever see you whenever we went to Gravity Falls for the summer?”

Pacifica laughs. It sounds as hollow as her stomach feels, and she tugs her baseball cap lower over her eyes as she looks down. What does she gain by answering? What does she lose? Should she bother weighing the pros and cons as she always does, when it comes to the Pines twins and their insatiable need to know answers?

“Didn’t want to be found, I guess,” she says, thinking of the white walls of her parents’ new mansion, modest as mansions go, and then of bouncing from house to house. “Couldn’t leave home, and then I didn’t have one for a while, and then I lived at Robbie’s. No reason for us to cross paths.”

“But we looked for you,” Dipper says, frowning. “No one had ever seen you.”

“I told them to say that to anyone who asked. There was enough media attention on me.”

“So - so the news about you being disowned is true?”

Mabel sounds heartbroken when she says this. Pacifica huddles in on herself, hunched over the table and eyes cast down.

“I’m broke,” she says again, and pushes her chair back to stand up. “I need to go.”

“Pacifica,” Dipper says, hand reaching out, “Wait - ”

She doesn’t.

* * *

It never hurts to be kind. Pacifica learned this from Robbie, of all people, when he stopped one day to give money to a beggar on the street. Pacifica had stared; Robbie had shrugged and said, “Sometimes kindness is all we can give. Sometimes, kindness is enough.”

(There’s a story behind that. Pacifica had never heard it, but she guesses it has something to do with how he got together with his girlfriend.)

Thus why she stops on her way to classes to help an older woman after she trips and drops everything in her hands, including a plethora of papers, and she chases after every last one of them and helps her organize them back into her folder even as the clock ticks. She’s going to get a tardy for her first class of the semester, but it’s just as Robbie had told her: the old woman introduces herself as her professor for the very class she’s missing, and they have a lively chat about computer science of all subjects as they walk to the lecture hall together.

It’s enough. The professor has taken a shine to her and insists on taking Pacifica out to lunch sometime that week, refusing to take no for an answer when Pacifica ashamedly admits she has no money she can spend. It’s enough, because right then, right there, Pacifica knows what she’s going to major in, and her professor gifts her a textbook on Java with a smile and a pat on the hand.

Sometimes kindness is all one can give, and apparently Dipper knows this too, because he stops her before she can leave the hall and says, “C’mon, I’ll walk you,” and he, too, doesn’t take no for an answer.

* * *

Rooming with Mabel teaches Pacifica three things:

1.) Never leave anything small out, like a favorite pen. It will be lost forever.

2.) Doing favors or giving gifts for Mabel results in payback twice as extravagant as it needs to be. Which is why Pacifica’s wardrobe soon consists of more and more sweaters and, after Mabel gets her measurements, shirts and even tailored pants. It’s wondrous. Pacifica had never once understood how people could make things so skillfully with their hands, and watching Mabel work is like magic.

3.) Dipper is always around, one way or another; physically rarely, but always by text, occasionally by Facetime, sometimes by calling. Either way, Mabel and Dipper chat with each other almost constantly about anything they want, and Pacifica will sit and do her homework and eavesdrop with a small sense of jealousy and want.

* * *

Becoming friends with Dipper teaches Pacifica three things:

1.) It is entirely possible to have a conversation revolving around higher-level physics without getting confused or bored, provided your conversational partner knows what the hell they’re talking about.

2.) Having a friend who is a decent cook and willing to part with his creations is the best thing that has ever happened to her, even if they occasionally taste terrible; free food is good food.

3) The more they talk, the more they click, and the more she realizes how thankful she is that he fell into her life when she was twelve years old, because otherwise she never would have become who she is and learned everything she knows now. 

“You are what made me a better person,” she tells him immediately after this dawns on her, and she finds herself flushing when he laughs, cheeks pink, and says, “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

* * *

Pacifica tags along with Mabel to all of her social events, never bothering to seek one out herself, and, slowly, she and Dipper start going to stuff too - campus-wide celebrations, smaller parties, lunches. Mostly lunches, after some time, and then exclusively lunches and dinners, and then in his room while his roommate’s out, or hers when Mabel’s out, and then around campus and then around the town on weekends and one day he says to her, “You have something on your face.”

He grabs her hand before she can wipe whatever it is off and kisses her, and - and part of her is screaming that she’s not ready, but the other part is screaming she’s been waiting for this, and all of her is telling her that life is nothing without taking risks.

* * *

_Show your work_ , Dipper had told her, which is why she’s up front and presenting on a program she’d coded a few weeks ago to a bunch of juniors and sophomores even though she’s a freshman. Her favorite professor, the one she’d helped on the first day of term, beams from the audience, and Mabel is silently cheering and pumping her arms while Dipper leans forward in his seat, grinning for all he’s worth.

It’s been so long since she’s thought she could actually make a difference - her fight against her parents had taught her not everyone can change - and it’s empowering and amazing and too much all at once. But she continues on, prattling about what the program does and what she hopes to improve upon later, and at the end there’s applause, she’s packing up her stuff, and the Pines twins sweep her away for celebratory ice cream.

Dipper will have to drag them back to their dorm later when they go to a party and Mabel gets wasted while Pacifica gets tipsy, but, you know - after coming to the world-shattering revelation that she isn’t useless, Pacifica decides that she deserves a bit of a reprieve.

* * *

She tells Dipper about what her life is Gravity Falls was like when he and Mabel are returning to Piedmont for winter break, when he asks her why she isn’t going home for the holidays. Everything comes out at once - the fighting, the arguing, the stomping around and the shouting and the cold against her cheeks after she was kicked out of the house. She tells him about going from house to house, befriending everyone to some degree, eventually finding a temporary respite with Robbie’s family, how her best friend ended up being the gravestone of the lumberjack ghost from six years ago.

“You talked to a gravestone?”

“Uh-huh. Like poetic justice or something. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. I’m sure he was listening, one way or another.”

She explains how Robbie appointed himself as older brother and how Wendy and the others made sure she always had a place to stay, how the diners gave her steep discounts and always made sure to look for her when she didn’t drop in, how the officers knew to steer media away and when to step in when she needed help. They don’t know her that well, she explains, and she’s imposed on them enough; she’s not going to go back when she can’t pay them back, not yet at least.

“But where are you staying?” he asks, because everyone has been kicked out of their dorm rooms unless they made arrangements, which Pacifica had not because she had messed up one of her key rules: cover all of your bases even when you don’t think they need covering. With finals on the mind, she had forgotten about it entirely, and her silence is answer enough because Dipper grabs her two boxes and she follows him, arguing with him all the while.

And that’s how she ends up in shotgun while Dipper mopes in the backseat, having lost a rousing match of rock-paper-scissors, and Mabel drives while delightedly singing along to whatever’s on the radio.

* * *

The Pines are not expecting an extra guest, but once they get that she’s Dipper’s girlfriend - at least that’s how he introduces her, and Mabel snickers when Pacifica turns beet red - they welcome her with open arms. She supposes that Mabel tells them what’s up as Dipper shows her to the guest room, too, because they don’t ask questions during dinner and pile her plate with more food despite her protests.

It’s everything she wished she had when she was little. She’s so overcome that she actually breaks down immediately proceeding the meal, weeping as quietly as she is able in the guest room; when had she gotten so lucky, and why hadn’t she found the Pines twins earlier?

A new life lesson: sometimes, it’s worth mourning missed opportunities, because there’s a chance it might arise anew.

* * *

She’d known, abstractly, that Dipper and Mabel did not celebrate Christmas. She’s not sure how she knows, but she discovers quickly enough that they’re Jewish, and that they are more than happy to explain what all the candles are for and why one is always lit. It’s new and different, and she thought she would miss evergreen and carols and candy canes. She doesn’t. _Try new things always_ , she thinks as she sits with Dipper in the loveseat in the living room, her legs over his lap and her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.

“Do you miss your family?” he asks her at some point, his breath ghosting across her ear, and she fingers a stray curl on the back of his neck.

“A little bit,” she says. “When I was younger, things were better. My dad’s always been a sexist piece of homophobic shit, but it wasn’t as obvious then. Or maybe mom didn’t care as much. I don’t know.”

Dipper doesn’t say anything, merely tugging her a bit closer to kiss her forehead. It’s enough, as Mabel dances around the kitchen, singing along to songs Pacifica’s never heard, and Dipper sits with her in a living room, chest rising and falling with each breath.

She’s happy. She still doesn’t quite know what the hell she’s doing, but she’s happy.

It’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Dipifica/Dippica/Dipcifica week shazam! That’s not even a coherent string of words.
> 
> Come find me [on tumblr](http://snowsheba.tumblr.com/)! :)


End file.
